Honorary Golden Deer
by AvatarRoku32
Summary: Based off a male Byleth joining the Golden Deer, and the player - aka me - finding out that you need to be female to romance Claude. Then to find out that Linhardt was the only viable romance for him and became obsessed. This is placed after Edelgard declares war and Lady Rhea and Byleth are missing. Five years have passed before the news of the professor's survival finds Linhardt.
1. Better late than never

Linhardt was scribbling away with his owl feathered quill when he first heard the news. It was like the light had returned to his life as the cloud of darkened sorrow lifted. He had swiped away the smile that came to fruition when the messenger looked up at him, steadily awaiting a reply. He ran his fingers down the rachis of the quill as he dismissed the man who came on behalf of the Empress. The smile returned as the door closed and Linhardt leaned back in his chair. The professor was alive. He had hoped, but as the years went on a small dark part of him convinced him that his teacher was gone. But now whispers of the alliance leader and his friends nearing the borders of their countries had Linhardt recalling the promise they had made five years ago. He immediately knew where they were and why, and tried not to allow the quip of his lips to gather any further up his cheeks in dread that someone was watching him. He hadn't told the messenger that, and he felt his pulse quicken at the thought of Edelgard smashing down his door and threatening his life for information. It was clear he was still untrustworthy in the Empress's eye, having transferred from the Black Eagle class to the Golden Deer and then fought alongside them against Edelgard in the fight for the Monastery. In the aftermath, Linhardt had been dragged back home. He stood beside his fellow Black Eagle students before their new Empress, her slitted eyes wholly on him and him alone. Edelgard had taken pity on him – much to Linhardt's surprise – and found himself whisked away back to his family's manor; where he found himself bombarded with tedious jobs Edelgard tasked for him. There was no doubt it was to keep him out the way and it certainly didn't help that he was monitored almost twenty-four hours a day.

He had to get out of here, escape the constricting claws Edelgard had around his every move. Now that he knew the professor was alive and it seemed Claude was ready to make his move, Linhardt needed to be ready for what was to come. He yawned and scratched his cheek, placing his well-kept quill back into its case. He ran his finger over the engraved writing and blinked some of the tiredness away. It was one of his most prized possessions. From the professor, of course. Received over a lovely cup of angelica tea to discuss whatever Linhardt had desired. He had felt the exhaustion from their conversation instantly lift when the man offered him the beautiful feather. Linhardt took it with surprised thanks and had spent the rest of the afternoon inspecting every barb with a delicate touch – despite insisting he would nap. That was when he realised that, perhaps, the professor could provide more for him than professor Manuela could. It did help the man had a mystery inside him that had him intrigued to study – which was extremely odd for Linhardt.

As soon as his monitors left for the night, he packed a bag. The quill the last to be placed delicately on top. Linhardt looked in on his sleeping parents, silently apologising before he fled into the night. Though he was one to dabble in magic, stealth was something he could use to his advantage. How else could he nap in class so obviously without anyone batting an eyelid? He was tense as he ran, not wanting to alert anyone if he took an empire stallion. As he got closer to the border the lighter he became. He hoped Claude and the others would recognise him and remember him for who he was as a person and not from where he hailed. Linhardt didn't sleep – he couldn't – not with Edelgard. The Empress was most certainly aware he had now bolted. He continued on with the thought of being able to rest his head on his bed at the monastery; that was only if the dormitories still stood.

He reached the town below the large church and found it slowing lingering with life. People were slowly returning, hearing the news that Claude and the new archbishop were making a stand. As Linhardt started to trail with his footsteps, allowing himself to finally stop looking over his back for a swinging axe, he found himself thinking of the professor. Had the man changed significantly? Perhaps he had grown a beard? Linhardt had to sneer his nose up at the thought. Or had he grown out his hair? Had he grown in stature? Was Linhardt now taller than him? That thought caused the young man to blush, wondering what it would be like to admire at his teacher from above. His fascination wasn't long-lived when his arm was suddenly grabbed firmly. Linhardt snapped his gaze up to the knight who caught him and stuttered out in panic.

"What are you doing here?" The knight demanded accusingly. Linhardt tried to explain himself but he soon found himself being escorted rather roughly by three Knights of Seiros towards the monastery. He felt a small part of him wanting to scold the men for handling him in such a way. He was a noble, respected in both his field and country – well, perhaps before...before Edelgard declared war. Now, he was just simply the enemy. He was from the Empire after all and it wasn't as if they knew he was here for a peaceful visit; having stumbled out his words.

"Hey, hey!" A familiar voice called out in urgency. Linhardt turned his gaze up to the stairs of the bazaar, to find the alliance leader skipping several steps to get to them. "There's no need to treat our honorary Golden Deer like this."

The knight analysed Claude for a moment in consideration before letting go of his captured prey. Linhardt swiftly rubbed his arms and viciously glared at the knight. His annoyance was swiftly squashed as an arm was slung around his shoulders.

"Claude..." Linhardt furrowed his brow a little at the friendly show of affection. Claude laughed loudly and let him go, coming to stand in front of him.

"You're late, Linhardt." The man said with a large smirk and placed his hand on his hip. "But I guess it's better late than never."

"You're mind-numbingly happy...it's making me tired." Linhardt had to suppress a yawn as he struggled to adjust to the brightness Claude brought with him.

"Ah, same old Linhardt." Claude chuckled in amusement. "You may look more mature, but you're still the same sleepy head we adored five years ago."

Linhardt found the lightness the young – now lightly bearded – man cloaked him in was more than what Linhardt could currently bear. From living in a world filled with darkness, flames, and blood to being suddenly thrown into the blessing rays and over sense of happiness that was Claude caused Linhardt to hyperventilate. It had been too dark for too long. He hadn't spoken to anyone important to him for five years, besides the occasional visit from Caspar. Linhardt wished he could have brought the blue-haired man with him, knowing he disliked this war just as much as he did.

"Hey, you alright?" Claude's tone turned serious and Linhardt flinched slightly at the alliance leader's soft touch to his shoulder. "Breathe buddy."

Linhardt nodded and closed his eyes to block out the blinding light. The small amount of darkness that called to him had the warlock calming slightly. When he heard another familiar voice, one he had been dreaming of for the past five years had Linhardt looking up in anticipation. The problems with his erratic breathing stopped – literally. The professor somehow looked exactly the same. Perhaps, if he looked closer there were a couple more crows feet niggling at his eyes. And even a few new scars beneath the sleeves of his clothes. But as Linhardt looked at the professor it was as if five years did nothing to him at all. He was still the man that taught him that his quest for Crest knowledge was admirable. The man who treated him as an equal; despite their landings in society's pyramid. The professor who offered him a space in his class because he could see he was thirsty for knowledge only he could provide. His admirer that treated him to baked goods and spent quiet outings with him, fishing. He furtively prayed the professor could still recognise him.

"Linhardt." The man approached them and sent the warlock a small smile which somehow jumps started his heart and allowed his lungs to work again.

"Professor," Linhardt replied and smiled in return, clasping his hands together in front of him. "I'm sorry I'm late."

Claude huffed and placed his hands behind his head in delight. Linhardt felt himself heat up under the professor's gaze, allowing the man to analyse every detail about him. A sudden bout of self-consciousness filled him. He began fiddling with the hems of his gown sleeves and prayed his hair was not as disheveled as he knew it would be. Linhardt gasped a little when the professor suddenly pooled himself into his personal space and wrapped his arms around his back.

"I'm happy to see you again."

Linhardt beamed, closing his eye and hesitantly hugged him back. It was too good to be true. This was surely a dream and he could awaken at any moment to find himself stuck behind his paper worked filled desk, drowning himself in desolation. But when the professor pulled away and he opened his eyes he found himself gazing at his teacher and the bright young alliance leader beside him.

"You wanna see the others?" Claude asked Linhardt. The magician instantaneously nodded and needed reassurance this was still reality.

Claude led the way as he talked to Linhardt behind about what was happening; the professor in stride beside the warlock. Linhardt gambled himself a sneak peek at the professor only to find the man gazing at him. Linhardt blushed a little and smiled at him before a loud voice called out his name. They were all so different but instantly recognisable. Five years did all of them unbelievably well. Raphael who had seen him first was somehow possibly even larger than before, yet the cheerful, carefree spark in his eye had yet to be extinguished. His rough bearded sideburns tickled his cheek and Linhardt could not deny the man the moment of affection.

"It's good to see you too, Raphael." The warlock showed the brawler an expression of appreciation after he let him go. Linhardt groomed himself over and turned to the others. "It's good to see all of you again. I had dreamt of this for some time."

Lorenz was the second to greet him; still over-polite and political with his speech, yet calculating with his eyes. Hilda was still as bubbly as ever, cooing over in approval at his own choice of hairstyle. Ignatz still had his round spectacles perched absolute upon his nose and was yet to grow out of his innocent guise. Marianne was still the quiet self-conscious girl he tried to persuade his subjectivity on. Her smile was wider though, closer to her eyes that were now awake to the world around them. Leonie, the typical trainee knight had grown out her red hair. She looked prettier now, more feminine, but her one-mindedness of her opinion of nobles showed him that the girl was still unattractive in such aspects. Lysithea was still headstrong, ready to bite anyone's head off at the slight chance of disrespect. He did receive a gentle smile from her however, which he knew was from his understanding of her rather peculiar Crest situation and his willingness to help her. But, then again, who could blame him. The whole thing was utterly fascinating. He had missed it, the tantalising research and results it brought to both him and his subjects. Linhardt couldn't help but smile at the thought that despite being separated for five years, they were still fast friends. Linhardt had been concerned that he would have been turned away, but he knew Claude and the others were not as self-righteous as Edelgard. They were true friends, not chess pieces at their leader's disposal. To think that they thought Linhardt himself was a part of their group had the warlock finally relaxing. He yawned loudly and fluttered his eyelids drowsily. The others laughed, seemingly glad Linhardt still kept his quirkiness.

"It would probably be best if we hit the hay. It's been a long day." Claude announced and stretched his arms above his head. Linhardt couldn't help but agree but felt himself elaborate that it had been almost a week for himself. He was exhausted and was about ready to pass out on the spot. Linhardt felt himself begin to fall forward before he was floating suddenly, his feet leaving the ground. He grumbled a little in protest but didn't seem to stop whatever was happening to him. Linhardt automatically nuzzled himself closer to the beckoning warmth and sighed in content. When he started to move without his own accord, he blearily turned his gaze up. The professor. Of course. Linhardt tangled his hand in the man's shirt and admired his sharp jawline and a couple of new tiny scars that tarnished his once flawless skin. This wasn't the first time the professor had to carry him to bed. Late nights at the library researching or staying out to stargaze always seemed to make Linhardt nod off. But the professor was always the one to find him, to gently coax him into his arms and carry him to his room without complaint. Linhardt started to do it more often than not, loving the feeling of someone – or in this case the professor – doting on him. He never confessed he was purposely staying out so the professor could fawn over him, but Linhardt was sure the professor caught on. He was thankful his teacher never pulled him up and confronted him. It was like a small part of him enjoyed it too. Just like now.

Linhardt spoke incoherently as the professor set him down on his bed and tried to remove his teddy bear-like grip.

"Come on, Linhardt." The professor couldn't help but quip his lips upwards. The yelp that escaped him as Linhardt pulled him down with unknown strength caused the warlock to wrinkle his nose. "What are you doing?"

Linhardt shivered. The professor's voice was barely over a whisper and Linhardt had never heard him speak that way. His tone was always confident, stoic and particular in the words he chose. But his voice cracked slightly and the hitch in his breathing didn't go unnoticed by Linhardt as he shifted closer, and nestled himself beneath the professor's chin.

"Sleepy." Linhardt managed to string together a word and closed his eyes fully. When arms encircled him protectively and a whisper of promise brushed his ear, Linhardt allowed darkness to take him, this time with welcoming arms.


	2. Distrust of the Empire

Linhardt woke the next morning alone. He was snuggled beneath the covers, the fleeting scent of the professor still staining the fabric that covered his nose. Linhardt found himself lulling back to sleep when he heard a loud clatter of noise outside. He furrowed his brow at the rather inconvenient disturbance and sat up. His door was wide open, which was odd, for one. What had his heart sinking, however, was the knight peeking in to encumber his whereabouts. Linhardt kept his face neutral as he rose from his bed, attempting to fix his bed hair as he picked up some stray books that had fallen to the floor during the night. The dust that had settled on the many piles of books that gifted his room caught Linhardt off guard. He forgot how often he studied in his room, away from people and wearing distractions. The thought to nap already passed the warlock's mind – but with his extra company – he decided against it. He watched the knight retreat out the corner of his eye and dropped his arms to his side. The rather obvious signs of being surveilled caused Linhardt to falter slightly. Perhaps Claude and the professor were not so open to his arrival than he had expected. He guessed he couldn't blame them, especially Claude. It wasn't often students from other houses transferred, nor did they turn their backs on the heirs of their countries. Claude was the new Alliance leader, he had a country's safety to ensure, and he wasn't about to allow an Empire noble to stroll the grounds of their newly appointed headquarters – even if it was Linhardt. The warlock let out a tired sigh before he left his room, offering a friendly nod to the knight, who pretended to be busy gazing out the window. As he reached the stairs, he took a step down and waited. Linhardt turned around when he heard the heavy steps of the knight's metal boots advance towards him. The warlock folded his arms and rose a brow when the knight peeked around to see how far Linhardt had gone down the flight of stairs in order to follow at an inconspicuous distance. He clearly hadn't expected him to stop and wait, and he yelped in surprise and stumbled back. Linhardt waited for the knight to compose himself and addressed him pleasantly.

"Is there something I can help you with?" He asked pointedly and waited patiently for a reply.

"Oh, nothing." The knight shook his head swiftly. "Just making my rounds."

Linhardt eyed him sadly before he ducked his head down in understanding. The warlock turned back and headed down the staircase, a light scowl gracing his features.

Was this really his life now? Forever to be mistrusted by Empress and friends alike. Who knew pursuing his right for a more individualised education would put him in this position? An exhausted sigh left his lips as he passed the greenhouse and came to stand by the water's edge. Linhardt's eyes trailed from the disturbed rippling water to the baited hook. The line was strained and the warlock's eyes travelled up the twine to find the man with a small bead of sweat on his forehead as he struggled with the hooked line. The professor's brow was creased in concentration and Linhardt was unable to stop the small smile that graced his lips. It was hard to stay mad at someone who was clueless about how cute they were. To be fair, Linhardt doubted the professor had any idea Claude had asked the Knights of Seiros to keep an eye on him. He wanted to talk to the professor about the situation, but he didn't want to sound like the spoilt child he was five years ago. Linhardt guessed he could allow Claude to surveillance him until the alliance leader was sure he could be fully trusted. He was used to being followed, so, what were another few weeks? Well...he hoped it was only for that long.

He hadn't realised how long he had been daydreaming until he felt a presence beside him.

"Teach is a huge fan of the whole fishing thing, isn't he?"

Linhardt looked up to his left to see Claude with his arms relaxed behind his head. A smile still plastered on his face and his eyes sparkled as he watched the professor.

"It is very relaxing," Linhardt replied and assessed Claude beside him. He had always been handsome even when they were younger, but now with his new well-trimmed beard sitting perfectly on his sharp jaw, Linhardt was unable to picture the archer without it. His hair was brushed and styled back carelessly but that just complimented every aspect of the man's features. But everything that was depicted in front of him was deceived and blinded by his distrust. Linhardt was tempted to confront him, to demand to know why they had treated him as a friend, when he was now, clearly seen as a threat and a spy for the Empire. Instead, he decided to try and coax the confession out of him. "Perhaps you should try it sometime. I'm sure the professor or I could show you the basics."

"Eh, I don't know." Claude looked over at Linhardt and gave him a wink. "Maybe, only if you join me in a game of strategy."

Linhardt hummed and folded his arms as the two of them continued to watch the professor. "Very well, I suppose I can find a free afternoon to prattle."

Claude chuckled and the warlock couldn't hold onto his question any longer. It was like when he was bottling up his one-hundredth question for Crest bearers before he was unable to contain it and blurted out his intentions with forcefulness. Of course, he had swiftly apologised, but by then it was far too late. They wanted nothing to do with him or his probing experiments.

"Do you truly trust me?" Linhardt asked and tore his gaze away from the smile of triumph that graced the professor's lips as he held his squirming catch with pride. Claude dropped his arms and swung them at his side for a moment before placing his hands on his hips.

"Yeah, I'd say so." The man replied and smiled. "It really is great to have you here."

"The Knights of Seiros seem incredibly pleased to see me as well." Linhardt hinted and watched the archer's face for any tells. None appeared which was what Linhardt had already predicted. The Alliance leader always kept such a cool façade, he never let any emotion pass without his permission. Which had always made Claude von Riegan such a dangerous opponent.

"They're not very discreet, are they?" Claude huffed and looked over his shoulder to see the knight – that had probably been watching Linhardt sleep – peeking over every so often from the open door of the greenhouse.

"They are not, no." Linhardt agreed and intentionally said no more. Claude shuffled on the spot and ran his hand through his hair. The smile was gone, replaced with a sliver of a frown. It seemed to Linhardt; Claude was trying to determine what excuse to use. To his surprise, the truth was not expected but was well received.

"Seteth insisted." Claude finally spoke and turned fully to stand before the accused warlock with an expression of apology. "The Knights of Seiros also questioned your loyalty. I waved them off but if we are to win this war then we need the knights. I figured you wouldn't mind – was I wrong?"

"I was a little ruffled to find that I was being watched as I slept." Linhardt noticed the corner of Claude's eyes wrinkle slightly in disgust.

"I'll tell them to back off a little. I'm sorry Linhardt." The archer placed his hand on his chest in respect and apology. "Just know the rest of us trust you fully, especially Teach."

"I understand. I am from the Empire after all." Linhardt's response was followed by a tired sigh. Claude placed his hand on the warlock's shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"You're a Golden Deer, nothing will change that."

Linhardt felt a small weight lift from his heart and he thanked Claude with a small smile. The archer huffed in amusement and smirked. He nodded at Linhardt in farewell before he headed off.

The warlock turned to the professor after the man called his name, and tilted his head slightly in endearment. The man was pointing to the fish then to Linhardt, asking if he wanted some food. The warlock waved and nodded, coming around to meet the professor. They headed to the dining hall and the warlock followed the professor to the kitchens. Usually, Linhardt would decline, cooking was not a strong focus for him. Nor did he enjoy the amount of effort it took. But, with the presence of the professor and the chance to spend time with him had the warlock deciding that the exhaustion he knows he'll feel after it finishes will be completely worth it. He watched from over the professor's shoulder as the man expertly gutted and scaled the fish.

"Where did you learn how to dissect a fish?" Linhardt couldn't help but ask, blinking in amazement.

"My father taught me." The professor replied and smiled at the warlock over his shoulder. "He had a love for fishing, a love he passed down to me."

Linhardt enjoyed it when the professor talked about his life before the monastery. It was a part of him that he kept from everyone besides Linhardt. Those that asked the professor did receive answers, but they were vague and to a point. For Linhardt, the man would sometimes go into detail, to allow the warlock to melt into his story. He expected the professor was relieved he could confide in someone without judgment. It wasn't hard, the man had an incredible life, it was filled with action and life, brimming with untold knowledge. When Jeralt had passed on, Linhardt hadn't known how to act around the professor. The man had been wracked with guilt and depression. He had lost the one person in his life that mattered to him. The one who could tell him of his past unknown. For the warlock, he hadn't understood. He deemed it pointless to grieve, the man was dead and he was not coming back. The simple answer was to move on. To continue as if everything were normal. Linhardt had avoided him for some time, not wanting to upset the professor any more than he was.

But then, the professor had disappeared and Linhardt had grieved for only a moment. It wasn't in his nature to be remorseful and he felt guilt prick at his eyes as he watched the professor begin to cook the fish.

"Are you alright?" The professor asked. Linhardt hadn't realised he had let his neutral front slide and he quickly cleared his throat.

"Yes of course. Just sleepy." Linhardt lied. If anything, he was quite the opposite. The professor's hand was on his arm and he was seemingly a lot closer to him than appropriate. He could see the question in the man's eyes and he glanced down to the floor for a moment. "I just don't understand emotion."

The confusion the professor sent his way had Linhardt moving away. "What do you mean?"

"I don't see how emotions are motivations to certain actions," Linhardt said, knowing his explanation was weak. "Why do we not use logic? It's a far more superior adaptation of the brain."

The professor seemed to contemplate his words with a curled finger around his chin before he answered.

"Emotions are important. They allow us to delve deeper into ourselves. They help us understand people." He answered and then folded his arms. "Logic is a great way to determine convinced outcomes but it's emotions that drive that judgment."

"So, you're saying, that emotion is also driven by logic?" Linhardt fluttered in lashes in astonishment, finding himself at a loss.

"Yes, and it's quite the opposite as well. Logic is driven by emotion. How else did you determine your dream of becoming a Crest scholar?"

Linhardt opened his mouth slightly and closed it again. He hadn't thought of that.

"There's nothing wrong with allowing emotions to drive you. Sometimes it can be quite freeing." The professor continued and turned the fish over. "We're both quite stoic, maybe that's why we work so well together."

"Maybe." Linhardt hummed and quipped his lips upwards. "Or it could be the fact that you possess the Crest of Flames and I'm trying to sway you into becoming my subject of study."

"Linhardt, you can examine me anytime."

The warlock hitched his breath slightly as the man looked over his shoulder at him. The minute sparkle in his eye caused Linhardt to falter. He couldn't stop the rather obvious blush staining his cheeks and he averted his gaze in embarrassment.

"I'll grab the plates," Linhardt mumbled out and turned to clean plates that were piled ready for food service.

"Grab three, Raphael will be joining us."

The warlock hummed in acknowledgment, not really surprised that the large man was eager to eat. As his fingers brushed the warmness of the newly cleaned plates, he looked over his shoulder. The professor was no longer at the stove. He was at the door. A deep frown adorned Linhardt's lips as he watched the man converse with the knight - who had been following him since he woke. He noticed a crease of impatience decorate the professor's forehead and felt his heart warming when he dismissed the knight.

"Has he been following you?" The professor rounded onto Linhardt who nodded timidly and held the plates against his chest. "Do you know why?"

"Claude said Seteth and the Knights of Seiros insisted," Linhardt replied moving over to the empty spot on the counter. He laid out the plates before he spoke again. "They don't have full confidence in me as of yet. I don't mind, really." He looked up to the professor who was watching him carefully.

"You aren't curious as to why?"

"I expect it's because I hail from the Empire and have been with Edelgard for the past five years," Linhardt answered as if it was obvious. "I have not been forthcoming with how or why I came to be here."

"Well, they haven't asked." The professor countered and placed his hand over Linhardt's. "I'll get them to stop. You have every right to be here as we do."

"Thank you, Professor."

"Byleth." The man corrected him and let go of Linhardt's hand to fetch the fish.

"Sorry?" Linhardt tilted his head in confusion and watched the professor create the spectacular dish with ease. He looked up at him when their arms brushed and he caught himself in his teacher's alluring irises.

"You can call me Byleth."


	3. The brawler's unknown strength

The food had been wonderful to the bubbling taste buds. The fish cooked to perfection with a touch of delicate seasoning. Linhardt sat across from the professor, trying not to make it obvious to their sole company as their knees brushed together and stayed touching. It felt as those it was just the two of them – despite Raphael wolfing down the food as if it was his lifeline – just favoured professor and smitten pupil. Everything was going wonderfully until the large brawler asked the question Linhardt had been avoiding since he arrived.

"So, where have you been the last five years? No one's heard from you."

Linhardt had managed not to choke on his mouthful, gazing at the professor as he chewed. The answer wouldn't incriminate him, but the thought of the pity he would receive once Raphael told the others had the warlock hesitating. Linhardt didn't want to lie either, especially to the professor, and waited till he swallowed to answer.

"I've been at home," He replied with an impartial tone. "Doing menial jobs for Edelgard."

"The whole time?" Raphael asked and placed his fork down in shock.

"Ah, yes." Linhardt nodded and eyed the brawler in confusion, stumped as to why Raphael was so disconcerted with his truthful answer.

"You haven't been training? And getting stronger?"

"I was not permitted to." A small part of the warlock found the brawler's floored high pitch voice amusing. Accompanied by his enjoyment was also the dull acknowledgement at how far behind Linhardt was now in mentality and strength training. Perhaps, to the warlock's horrification, that was the underlying plot to Edelgard's order. He hadn't trained for five years, only a small spell every so often when he alone. Not compared to the others, no doubt Raphael trained every day, every hour. Leonie was probably not far behind, along with Claude and Lorenz. The only other person who hadn't trained was the professor himself. But it was different for him: Byleth was already an accomplished mercenary, a dedicated teacher and skilled tactician. Linhardt was still learning to control his ability for magic and the faultless team dynamics of the Golden Deer. His unruffled demeanor shattered for only a moment but that was all that was needed for the professor to cut in.

"What do you mean?" Byleth asked sharing a look with Raphael to hold his tongue. Linhardt pushed the plate away, having finished his food. He suddenly wasn't enjoying the attention the professor was giving him, along with the extra pair of aghast eyes of the brawler.

"I was under house arrest." The warlock answered clearly and tried to shake away their concern with a reassuring smile. "Edelgard did not trust me, and rightly so. It wasn't as if she would allow me to roam free in her kingdom after I opposed her at the monastery and her visions for Fodlan."

Raphael swallowed his mouthful and motioned to the professor to protest. He managed to silence himself as Byleth reached over the table and covered Linhardt's hand with his own. The warlock flexed his fingers beneath the professor's and looked up at him, having not realised he had ducked his head down to stare at the well-maintained placemat below him.

"I'm sorry to hear that." The professor said and gently squeezed Linhardt's wrist in comfort. Linhardt knew from Byleth's touch his words were not driven by pity or judgement, and he was unsure about how to react. He sent the man a small smile in appreciation and flipped his hand over. The urge to entangle their fingers grew strong and the warlock was sure Byleth felt the same. Raphael cleared his throat – and to Linhardt's dismay – shattered the small infatuated bubble the two men were in. The brawler had unexpectedly whisked Linhardt to his feet and dragged him away to train. The warlock glanced over his shoulder as they went, his protests dying on the tip of his tongue as he blushed at the professor, who sent him a warm smile and waved softly in farewell.

* * *

Linhardt stood rigidly in front of Raphael with his spellbook in one hand and a training sword in another and blinked. "I don't think this is a very thought out idea." He insisted and gulped as the man bashed his training gauntlets together. It didn't help the brawler's hands were twice the size of his own, and his body towered like a bear over Linhardt's – who was more like a ragdoll.

"You haven't been training your body for five years." Raphael motioned languidly for Linhardt to come at him. The warlock hummed unconvinced and wordlessly prayed that the professor – or anyone at this point – would appear before he was pummeled to his untimely death. He approached Raphael and swung his sword at the man. He stiffened slightly as the brawler easily blocked him and without warning, punched him back. Linhardt felt his organs smack against his spine and spasm back again. He fell to his knees and gagged heavily as his eye widened at the sensation. He could already feel his food coming up and he let it splatter over the ground in front of him. Raphael was instantly by his side, crouching down to continuously apologise. He thought he heard the brawler exclaim he would find the professor, but ignored it for another wave of sickness. He did hear Raphael's footsteps fade and he let out a sigh in relief, knowing the further away he was the less chance he had of injuring him further. He tried to breathe deeply only for it to turn into a lurch of vomit. Linhardt gave up on trying to even his breathing and let himself gag and choke for air. He heard rushing footsteps behind him but was unable to say anything. His vision was a little blurry, but as he was carefully maneuvered, he could make out the professor's outline; his bright hair and eyes reassuring him somewhat when he noticed Raphael behind him.

"Pro-…-" Linhardt tried to speak, stopping immediately as he felt the man's hand on his lower back. The man hushed him and knelt beside him.

"Breathe with me, Linhardt." The professor instructed and the warlock attempted to sync his breaths with the man. As soon as Linhardt had calmed down and his breathing returned to normal, he became aware of where he was. He was nestled against the professor's chest, sitting curled up in between his thighs. Byleth's hand was rubbing his back, his soft voice whispering comforts in his ear. Linhardt's own hands were clutching desperately at the professor's uniform. "That's it, are you okay?"

"I believe so. Thank you, prof–Byleth." Linhardt swiftly corrected himself at the look the professor sent him.

"We'll get Manuela's second opinion." Byleth rose and helped Linhardt up. To say the warlock missed the professor's surrounding warmth would be an understatement, wanting nothing more than to stay in Byleth's lap forever. When he noticed Raphael hovering, he leaned closer to his teacher.

"Can I come?" Raphael asked, Linhardt, feeling a small amount of blame at the sound of the brawler's broken guilty voice. The professor nodded but kept him at an arm's length from the warlock. Linhardt huffed as Byleth helped him onto the bed of the infirmary and awaited Manuela's appearance. He hadn't noticed their fingers had intertwined and that Raphael was avoiding eye contact – either from the guilt or the thought of third-wheeling. They didn't have to wait very long before the large-breasted woman shuffled in and beamed happily when she saw the professor. Linhardt scowled a little but didn't stop Byleth as he rose from the bed to meet her. Raphael took his place and Linhardt leaned back as to not bump their heads together and earn himself another injury and a headache.

"I am sorry," Raphael whispered to the warlock who continued to look between the professor and Manuela. "I didn't think I hit you that hard. Guess I don't know my own strength." Raphael chuckled awkwardly and scratched the back of his neck. Linhardt tore his gaze away and turned to look at the brawler.

"It's quite alright Raphael," Linhardt said, voice still a little cracking in places. They both silenced as Manuela approached and stood before the warlock.

"The professor told me what happened, would it be okay if I tested a few things?" she asked Linhardt, who nodded. As the woman began prodding and massaging certain areas of his abdomen, asking simple questions of 'is it tender here?' or 'how about here?' Linhardt focused on what she had said before. She had said 'the professor', which meant, he was the only one Byleth had insisted on calling him by name. Linhardt had always assumed whenever he caught the professor consoling the belittling woman after yet another failed romance, that the man was trying to wriggle his way into her heart. His thoughts were ripped away when Manuela prodded a rather sensitive spot and set direct agony to his pain receptors. He yelped in distress and shuffled further upon the bed away from her. He clasped his hand over the pain and scowled at the woman.

"What was that?" Byleth pushed himself between them and placed his hand over where Linhardt's was gripping his side.

"I need to test where it was sensitive to determine any damage to his internals." Manuela sighed and curled her finger over her cheek in thought. "I believe he will be fine however, just some bruising."

Raphael let out a breath he was holding and laughed happily in relief. "Thank the Saints."

"I suggest rest and no strenuous training." Manuela shot a glare to the brawler, who cowered slightly.

"Yes, ma'am." Linhardt nodded and had already planned the rest of his week. The library had been calling to him since he arrived. He needed to continue his interrupted research from five years ago. Linhardt needed Marianne to understand her Crest was a gift. It wasn't 'unlucky' or a 'curse'. Of course, he needed physical evidence of this, if he recalled correctly, he had almost been there. If he could just find the right corresponding books, he hoped his list was still somewhere in his room. Then there was Lysithea. A miracle in her own right. She still hadn't been forthright with how she had obtained her second Crest, but with the way she cut him down and grew furious indicated every time he brought it up, it was clearly not by her consent. He would help her find a way to remove one, but also try to ensure her that perhaps having two Crests was most certainly a gift, one to treasure rather than butcher. Flayn had also captured his attention when they were younger. He hadn't told anyone yet, but he had snuck into the filing cabinets in Seteth's room to enlighten himself on others Crests. Claude had accompanied him after catching him leaving his room late at night. The warlock still hadn't known why the young Golden Deer had been up either, but at the time Linhardt hadn't been particularly concerned. They had gazed at each other in amazement as they compared the folders in front of them. Flayn had the major Crest of Cethleann. Though Linhardt had the minor Crest of the saint, still infrequent, the green-haired girl's own was beyond rare. Her brother, himself, had a major Crest of another saint, but Linhardt had decided not to even dare ask Seteth to allow him to explore his family ancestry. The professor himself was another mystery altogether. One he intended to explore, but at a more leisurely pace.

Linhardt yawned loudly, tired from his overloading brain. The smile Byleth sent his way caused a small flush of colour to stain his cheeks. It seemed Raphael and Manuela had departed and it was just the two of them.

"You okay to stand?" Byleth asked and offered him his hand. The warlock nodded and thanked the professor for his assistance.

I'm sorry, I was lost in my thoughts." Linhardt said as the man guided him out the room.

"There's no need to apologise. Did you want to go to your room?" Byleth asked. Linhardt had wanted to shake his head, but it seemed the professor had already made the decision for him. The warlock couldn't sway himself from Byleth's commanding impression and simply allowed him to escort him to his dusty room. Linhardt thanked the professor as he gently lowered himself onto the bed and leaned his head against the wall. He groaned softly as he adjusted himself and placed his hand on his abdomen.

"Remind me never to train with Raphael again," Linhardt spoke roughly and closed his eyes. A small bout of laughter caught the warlock unaware and he opened them. He turned his head to the side to see Byleth smothering his amusement behind his hand. Linhardt furrowed his brow and didn't appreciate the man basking happily in his pain. His face must have been more heated than he thought because Byleth instantaneously stopped and came to sit beside him.

"My apologies, I didn't mean to laugh." The professor grabbed Linhardt's other hand. The warlock was lost for words; Byleth was incredibly close, their faces close enough for the warlock to simply lean forward and – _No! _Linhardt gulped and shook his head, tearing his gaze away from the professor's alluring lips.

"I just don't think I've ever heard you laugh before." The warlock explained, though it wasn't strictly why his face had creased, but, it was certainly a fact. He doubted even Claude has heard the professor let out even a snort of amusement.

"I couldn't help it." Byleth pushed Linhardt's stray hair behind his ear and pushed his fingers through his hair. "Next time, train with me. It's my job to ensure you're ready for the battle to come."

Linhardt hummed lazily in answer and found his eyes fluttering closed as the professor continued to brush through his hair. He felt himself lean closer to Byleth and allowed the man to push his head the rest of way so that Linhardt was now resting on his shoulder.

"Byleth?" Linhardt whispered tiredly, his mouth working on his own accord. The professor hummed in question and the warlock continued. "I missed you."

Linhardt didn't hear Byleth's quiet response but did let out a faint sigh in reply as he fell asleep pressed against the professor's side.


	4. Confessions of a drowsy Warlock

Linhardt was casually signing his name when he heard the scream from outside his study. Now usually the warlock would run through scenarios in his head – like, how did he get home? He was sure he had been at Garreg Mach not two moments ago. Or determine if the scream he had just heard was one of panicking fear and one he would have recognised. But, for some reason, he simply rose from his high back chair and unconcernedly opened his door. He confidently stepped out – which again was something out of character for him – and looked down to his right to see a bloodied body of a monk. Linhardt tilted his head to the side, _that's strange_ since when were the monks of the Monastery making home in his family manor? A violent shiver ran down his spine at the sudden sound of metal scraping against the tiled floor of the hallway. He snapped his head to his left down the corridor and he paled dramatically. The figure that was still somewhat concealed by the darkness caused Linhardt's heart to falter. He could make out the curled horns on the figure's headdress and the blinding white hair – that used to be flowing and free – now tight and unwavering.

"Edelgard?" Linhardt gulped and faltered a step back in terror. Her features came to light as she stalked towards him. They were lit in fury and her pupils sparked with bloodthirst. What had the warlock terrified was the fact that they were aimed at him. He was literally and figurately alone. There was no carefree Claude, no pointedly opinionated Lorenz alongside the other members of the Golden Deer. There was no Byleth to place a hand across his chest to hide him behind his broad body. The professor's sword ready to counter and eliminate anyone who threatened his students. His thoughts were ripped away when Edelgard spasmed slightly and her natural frown turned to a smirk filled with vicious mirth. "Edelgard, we can- "

"Traitor! Deserter! Colluder!" The Empress screamed like a savage harpy and sprinted towards him with her axe ready to find its mark. Linhardt's eyes widened in horror and immediately let his fight or flight response activate. He retreated – duh… – yelping as he tripped over the monk's body behind him. It felt like slow motion as he put his arm up as if to defend himself as Edelgard pounced towards him. It took an age for the axe to be brought down at him. It was enough for him to take a trip down memory lane and mull over all his past regrets. The main one, not telling Byleth how he feels, the bottled up pent of passion and desire for him. As soon as the tip of the axe breached his shirt Linhardt screamed and bolted upright. He clasped at his chest and his pupils flickered violently around his room at the Monastery. The sweat glazing his forehead was wiped away with shaky hands as he tried to calm himself. It was only a dream…only a dream.

"Linhardt?" A sleepy voice called to him and the warlock shifted away as Byleth sat up wearily. His eyes seemed to widen and Linhardt was sure his features must show how terrified he really was. The sudden warmth that seeped through him as the professor placed his hand on his lower back and gently rubbed it soothingly. His other hand came to cup his jaw, caressing it as he tilted Linhardt's face to his. "What happened?"

"An all too real nightmare." Linhardt managed to say as he gazed into the light of Byleth's eyes. "I was back home, in my study. Edelgard came to the manor and – and killed a monastery monk and then me. Am I a traitor?" He asked the professor.

Linhardt closed his eyes as he felt Byleth's thumb caress his cheek and leaned unconsciously into the professor's comforting touch. He heard the man hum and he rose one shaking hand to grasp the other's and keep it there in case the professor decided to pull away. Byleth guided them back down to the pillow and Linhardt found himself staring and memorising everything his eyes could latch onto to. Who knows how long he had left…

"You're definitely not a traitor," Byleth promised and flipped the hand on Linhardt's cheek over. He entangled their fingers together and brought Linhardt's hand to his lips. The warlock hitched a breath at the soft touch and blushed deeply as if their wistful actions were forbidden. Linhardt's nightmare was now all but forgotten, replaced with the tantalising fantasy of what the professor's lips would feel upon his own, and the thought of the others faces as they kissed like their lives depended on it. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"I must confess something," Linhardt stated and recalled the last thing he thought before he woke with a start. He searched Byleth's pupils for anything that didn't resemble acceptance and adoration. When not even a flicker appeared, the warlock gulped and sent the professor a small smile. "I like you, more than I think is appropriate for a student and professor status."

It was Byleth's turn to blush and the man couldn't stop the sincere grin spread. Linhardt quipped the corner of his mouth up and nudged himself even closer to the professor after he hadn't been pushed away in revulsion. The strong arms that wrapped around his slimmer waist were dragging him closer to the point of being completely splayed against the professor's body. Linhardt had to close his eyes before he drowned in Byleth's intoxicating presence as the man pressed their foreheads together.

"Are you sure?" Byleth asked his voice barely over a whisper. The warlock fluttered his eyes open in surprise at the question and instinctively found himself nuzzling their noses together.

"I've never been surer than anything in my entire existence," Linhardt confessed and gasped softly when he felt his lips being pecked delicately.

"I like you too, Linhardt," Byleth confessed and kissed the warlock again a little more fervently. Linhardt clumsily kissed him back and sighed heavenly at the sensation of their breaths mingling together. He hoped this wasn't another dream; he has been known to fall asleep straight away after waking up from another. He grew amazingly drowsy – not on purpose mind you – as Byleth peppered his mouth with soft and languish kisses. This time he did hear Byleth huff out in breathless amusement and Linhardt leaned forward in an urge to kiss him and sloppily brushed their mouths together before falling asleep again.

When the warlock woke, his eyes widened in shock to see Byleth was still beside him with an arm dangling limply over his abdomen. He reddened from head to toe as he recalled what had happened, watching the professor's chest rise and fall with his even breathing. Linhardt managed to maneuver himself out of bed without waking Byleth and he inevitably pressed his fingers to his lips, evoking the way the professor had tasted. He gazed at man's peaceful sleeping figure before he shuffled out the room before he did something he'd regret.

* * *

The library was quiet – thank the saints – and Linhardt somehow picked the right book, despite the roaming and sensual thoughts that blared in his mind. He hated it when he blurted out whatever he wanted when he was tired. Like Marianne's belief of her Crest, his sleepy talk was a curse in itself. He supposed he was glad he could remember what he had said – despite how embarrassing it was. It wasn't as if it had brought about any negative repercussions but the unwanted premise of Byleth turning around and saying it was a stupid mistake had him focusing on the book he had grabbed from its shelf. Linhardt distracted himself from his pessimism by spending the entirety of his afternoon in the library, his single book soon became a mountain of written words. Linhardt immersed himself with stories of Saint Cethleann, bearer beasts of the Crest of the Beast and the possibilities of Crest removal in history.

"Linhardt?"

The warlock simply hummed in answer, eyes sweeping over the page totally enthralled with the printed ink. He finished the page before he looked up and he nodded in greeting.

"Flayn, I was just about to come looking for you." He replied and the girl rose a brow.

"You were?" She asked in surprise. "Whatever for?"

"Saint Cethleann, of course." Linhardt stood abruptly and stumbled slightly in his exhausted state. Flayn clasped her hands together as she tilted her head at him in question. "As you are already aware, you bear the major Crest of saint Cethleann and, I, the minor."

"Yes, Linhardt, I am well aware," Flayn replied and patiently waited for Linhardt to spout whatever crazy theory he had conducted this time around.

"Well, I'm unsure of the results, but that's why they call it an experiment… It would, of course, require that you and I get married." Linhardt prattled on and waved his arm lazily as motioned between them.

"I beg your pardon?!" Flayn was taken aback.

"If bearers of major and minor Cethleann Crests reproduce it begs the question of what Crest would the offspring possess, if any? I must know for the sake of the research and thought the question might pique your interest as well."

"Are you actually speaking about a hypothetical future with me? Involving...children?!" Flayn was still astounded much to Linhardt's annoyance and had to explain himself further.

"Yes. Such parentage has never been documented. A whole new field of research awaits. It would be a worthy experiment, and we'd need only five or so children for a good sample size." Linhardt nodded as he clarified his worn-out genius. A book suddenly dropped behind them along with a small startled voice. Linhardt ignored Flayn's now embarrassed and rather displeased features to gaze over his shoulder. His eyes instantaneously widened as he found himself staring at the professor. It was like he had been caught in a scandalous moment – he had been – but that was beside the point. When did Byleth arrive? Had he been here the entire time? Watching him study? And was that Ignatz? The glass-framed boy scrambled to pick up the book the two of them had been looking over. Linhardt, however, was easily reading Byleth; unusual for the characteristically indifferent mercenary. His stature was rigid in shock and his eyes pierced through Linhardt in betrayal and confusion. It felt like forever and a time before Byleth turned on his heel and stalked out the library leaving a confused bespectacled Ignatz calling after him.

"Just think about it." Linhardt stupidly said to Flayn, interrupting her quiet rant before rushing after the professor. He caught a glimpse of him rounding the corner and jogged after him. "Professor! Professor! Wait! Byleth!"

The man stopped in his tracks and spun around. Linhardt halted immediately and shivered under Byleth's intimidating regard. Everything the warlock had wanted to say became incoherent as the professor stormed over to him and prodded his chest harder than necessary. From that physical action alone, Linhardt knew he was in trouble.

"I-" Linhardt started to explain before he was cut off sharply by Byleth's hurt and angry response.

"I know that I'm not a woman…Nor can I bear you any children for your absurd and bigoted Crest research…But, It hurts to know that I really am just a Crest to you, and I guess I had hoped maybe you could see me as more." Byleth clenched his hands into fists before he dug around his pocket and produced a small ring. Linhardt rose a confused brow and waited as the professor took a deep breath. "My father left this to me and said, one day I would give it to someone who I love. I had thought it was you…But, now…I'm not so sure."

Linhardt felt like he had been slapped in the face at the realisation of what Byleth meant by the ring's purpose. Guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders as he tried to find something, anything, to say back. He had been an utter selfish fool. Here was a man, THE man who loved him and, who he, loved back; and what did he do? Throw it back in his face by proposing – an idea he now understood was absolutely ludicrous – to another person, and not to mention the principle of bearing children to start a family. His silence must have been too unbearable as Byleth pushed the ring at him with a strong shove and Linhardt scrambled to catch it before it fell to the floor. The professor swiftly let go and sprinted away. The warlock put his arm out and called to Byleth in desperation as he fled. Linhardt sighed in defeat and closed his eyes for a moment, comprehending what he had done, before he looked down into his palm. The ring was beautiful, silver in colour, with small studded stained gems. He was tempted to slide it onto his finger to see if it was a perfect fit. Instead, Linhardt pocketed the promise that perhaps their relationship had yet been destroyed beyond repair.

As Linhardt returned to the library, ignoring both Ignatz and Flayn – who looked at him in concern and question – he began to replace the books back into their rightful positions. His mind was concocting a strategy to gain back Byleth's favour and then, maybe, just maybe, he would be worthy to place the professor's ring upon his finger.


	5. Linhardt's Request

Linhardt found his target on the bridge to the cathedral. He spent time at the impressive place of worship every so often; due to its reserved and serene atmosphere. It helped with his persistent running thoughts and never-ending ideas, along with his fantasies of the future. A small bout of relief passed through him when he saw the bright pale pink hair tied up in their usual duo bunches. Linhardt did notice she was not alone; Lorenz was beside her, his purple styled hair sculpting his features handsomely. They were talking hushed, discussing something that clearly wasn't for any open ears that passed along. Linhardt approached them cautiously, nodding at Lorenz in acknowledgement when the man looked up to see him coming. The dark paladin removed his hand – Linhardt hadn't noticed – from Hilda's arm rather swiftly. The young woman turned around in surprise and smiled when she saw the warlock.

"Linhardt!"

"Hilda." He greeted her with a small bow then looked up at Lorenz. "Lorenz."

"Linhardt, whatever is it that we can help you with?" The man asked politely, his arm and hand positioned in its odd natural pose. Linhardt shuffled on his spot for a moment too long and found himself being engulfed in a hug from Hilda.

"Oh, did you finally realise you need help with your choice accessories?" she asked sorrowfully. Linhardt blinked at Lorenz, wondering how she instantaneously came to that conclusion and firmly pulled away. His hand came to tighten around the chain that bore his tunic.

"This is my great grandfather's." He told her and the young woman hummed and creased her brow.

"I can see wh- Ouch! Lorenz!" Hilda pouted at the man who nudged her gently to stop her from speaking and find herself unable to dig out the hole she would inevitably find herself in.

"It must be a valued treasure," Lorenz spoke on behalf of them both and eyed the heirloom in interest. "You must be honoured to hold it."

Linhardt nodded in answer and looked between the two Golden Deers, before returning to the task at hand. "I do need your assistance, Hilda. But I would appreciate your discretion."

The woman perked up and grabbed the warlock's hands. "Anything!"

Linhardt had hoped Lorenz would take his leave but it seemed the dark paladin had no intention of leaving Hilda's side, and no doubt offer his prejudiced opinion to the warlock's request.

"A ring." Linhardt eventually divulged and bit the inside of his cheek as he saw Lorenz's brow rise in curiosity. He tried to stay focused on Hilda despite the suddenly focused attention he was receiving from them both. "I wish to give someone a ring."

"Oh?" Hilda seemed shocked as she processed what the warlock was revealing to her and she suddenly gushed. "Oh! Linhardt, that's wonderful! Who's the lucky girl?"

The slight sneer Linhardt slipped passed had Lorenz smirking and flicking his hand in the air.

"Or man?" The dark paladin asked for Hilda. Linhardt winced at Hilda's squeal of excitement and glared at the purple-haired man in annoyance.

"I'd rather not say at this time…" the warlock answered and cleared his throat. "Are you able to help me?"

Hilda nodded and shared a smile with Lorenz who replaced his hand onto her shoulder.

Linhardt hadn't expected the design of a ring to entail so much detail and precision. Hilda bombarded him with endless queries. What kind of metal did he want to use? How big is the person's finger? Did Linhardt want any engraving? Then there were the gems. Thousands of gems, some Linhardt was sure Hilda was making up. But then each gem had meanings and moods – and let us not forget the size of the gem. Hilda ensured him the bigger the gem the better. The warlock's mind was frazzled by the sheer amount of planning it took. He watched Hilda bring his simple, yet somehow, incredibly complex request to fruition. After the young woman entangled Ignatz's art skill, the drawing was taken to the apprentice blacksmith. Linhardt had to endure the shameless flirting before his papered creation was becoming a reality. Which then reeled in what Linhardt was going to say to Byleth when he presented the ring to him. What could he say apart from 'I'm sorry?' 'Please forgive me, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you.'

* * *

It took the apprentice several weeks for him to complete it to Hilda's standard. In that time, they had to head to the Valley of Torment, to receive aid from Claude's ally within the Alliance. Linhardt found himself on the front of Byleth's cold shoulder – despite the blistering heat – and he was no longer positioned beside the professor; replaced by Lysithea who was determined to prove herself in front of her peers. Linhardt found battle tedious as he used to when he fought beside Edelgard. His skills downplayed by being behind the front lines. Linhardt had to be honest and felt a surge of anger pass through him. The thought of never leaving the Empire left as soon as it came, and the warlock had to focus on Leonie as the woman charged forward on her pegasus. This battle was also on the list of firsts; the first in fighting against a classmate. Ashe, the young innocent boy whose head was filled with dreams of knighthood, was now standing in front of Linhardt, fingers flexing against his bow. The warlock raised his arm, magic fluttering at his palm but hesitated in attacking a fellow student. Ashe was quick to draw his bow in retaliation and aimed it at Linhardt. They stood opposite one another in a stalemate, a standoff where both of them were waiting for the other to make the first move.

"I don't want to hurt you, Linhardt." Ashe stuttered out and his hands shook. "But I will if I have to."

Linhardt inhaled sharply and realised he could very well die within moments. If he acted first Ashe would suffer the same fate if the roles were reversed. Linhardt's dream flittered through his mind, Eledgard's rabid features flashing in front of his eyes. Linhardt's magic faltered and sparked and his eyes widened in horror as Ashe released his arrow.

"LINHARDT!"

The warlock closed his eyes as the steelhead hurtled through the air towards him. Linhardt furrowed his brow when he heard the sudden clash of metal and a small burst of wind ruffling his robes. He opened his eyes and gasped in surprise as he found himself behind Byleth, his arm signaling him to stay back. The professor had come to his aid, his calculating but worried eyes gazing at him over his shoulder. Linhardt was shaking and barely heeded what happened next.

"Ashe, I know you do not want to fight us," Byleth spoke to the young man. "I know you do not want to fight for the Empire."

"I don't have a choice." Ashe shook his head as the battle began to dwindle around them. Byleth put his sword down to his side and lifted his arm. He sent Ashe a small smile and offered him his hand; propositioning as an olive branch.

"Join us against the fight opposing the Empire."

Ashe pinched his features as the other Golden Deers crowded around their professor and grinned in reassurance at the conflicted archer. As soon as Ashe declared he would join them and his palm pressed into Byleth's, Linhardt fell to his knees in exhaustion. The warlock caught Byleth's eye and he felt his heart flutter at the look of concern flittering across the professor's face. Linhardt blew out a breath and thanked Leonie who came to his aid and pulled him to his feet.

The journey back to the monastery was painful for Linhardt. He was still shaking from his near-death experience and he hadn't been able to thank his saviour for saving his life. He did, however, much to his delight, get to march beside the one who had almost killed him. Ashe was awkwardly flittering his gaze around, unable to look Linhardt in the eye. The warlock wasn't interesting in talking, trying to focus on the path in front of him and ensuring himself that he was still among the living. It wasn't long before Ashe spoke, his hand gestures clumsy and apologetic.

"I am deeply sorry." The archer almost whimpered as he spoke. Linhardt turned his head to Ashe and simply stared intently at him. Ashe ruffled lightly under his regard and bowed his head and flushed. "I understand if you do not trust me."

"It's not that I do not trust you." Linhardt finally spoke after they continued for some time. He pursed his lips slightly as he gazed at the back of Byleth's head a little further ahead. "I simply wavered and you mistook it for a failed attack. It's entirely my fault."

"Linhardt- I," Ashe stuttered and gaped at the warlock in pure bewilderment, stumped on how to reply. Linhardt shook his head and adjusted his sleeves.

"Think nothing of it. I'm still perfectly able-bodied."

Ashe let out a short but relieved giggle and nodded in appreciation, his footsteps no longer dragging him down.

* * *

Linhardt had wanted to call to Byleth when they returned to Garreg Mach, pushing his way unsteadily through the knights after welcoming Ashe back to the monastery, only to find himself being yanked away by Hilda and Lorenz. The axe-wielder dragged him over to the blacksmith with the dark paladin bringing up the rear, ensuring Linhardt had no way of escape. When he saw the ring that the young apprentice presented to him caused any thought of slipping away to vanish immediately. The ring was elegant, yet simple. The gem he chose sat in the middle, encased by two engraved fan-like shapes. Two other much smaller gems indented the band along with a plait like indentations enveloping the entirety of the ring.

"It's perfect," Linhardt confessed and smiled at the blacksmith. "Thank you."

"Oh, it's quite alright, anything for Hilda." The man smiled at the woman who giggled lightly and waved him off. Lorenz purposely cleared his throat and glared at the blacksmith before standing closer to Hilda. The apprentice flushed in embarrassment and quickly turned around and pulled off his gloves. Linhardt clutched the ring into his fist before he wrapped Hilda, who gasped in surprise, into a light embrace.

"Linhardt?" She asked but hugged him back and smiled up at Lorenz who rattled only slightly at their show of affection.

"Thank you, Hilda." Linhardt pulled away and apologised for taking her by surprise and acting out of character. "How can I repay you?"

"By going to propose!" Hilda clasped her hands in excitement and bounced up and down. "Go, go!"

"Let us know if the professor accepts your proposal," Lorenz smirked as the warlock stuttered and his eyes widened in shock. "Neither of you have yet mastered the skill of veiling your desires for one another."

Linhardt flushed in embarrassment and found himself being spun around and pushed inelegantly towards the steps to the monastery. Hilda shooed him away with her hands and the warlock nodded and shuffled up the stairs. He looked left and right before starting his search for his professor.

Byleth was well into a meeting with Claude, Judith, and Seteth when Linhardt found him. He couldn't disturb them; the warlock knew that. Whatever they were discussing was extremely important. Linhardt gripped the ring in his hand and headed back down the hall. He noticed Marianne holding a collection of books in her arms; the top novel already slipping, threatening to fall.

"Marianne?" Linhardt called to her and paused in his movement as the girl jumped in fright and the books tumbled from her arms and spread across the hallway.

"L-Linhardt." Marianne squeaked out and placed her hand over her heart. "You scared me."

"My apologies." The warlock walked over. "What are you doing with these books?"

"I'm returning them to the library." The priest crouched down and began to gather the books, not bothering to ask Linhardt for help. Not that the warlock would help; work didn't agree with him, much like Hilda, if there was someone else that could do it, why bother? He did grab the book that perched awkwardly on top and motioned for Marianne to lead the way. Perhaps this would pass some time and Linhardt appreciated the distraction.

"Where did you find all these?" The warlock asked as Marianne began to put them away.

"Oh? The cathedral." The priest answered quietly and turned silent once again. Linhardt pursed his lips slightly and flipped the book in his grasp to read the back. The Goddess Tower?

"Mmmm, Marianne?" Linhardt hummed and called to her. He rose his head as she looked at him over her shoulder. "What is it they say about the goddess tower? Some insight about two people making some form of a promise?"

The very short but prominent spark in her eye had Linhardt preparing himself for an unwilling amount of talking. As the young woman spoke Linhardt replied when needed and nodded when appropriate before he felt his eyes begin to flutter in drowsiness. But, when Marianne informed him that throughout history several proposals were also included in the Goddess Tower's history, Linhardt perked up instantly.

"Do you think the professor is fond of such trivialities?" Linhardt asked Marianne for her opinion. The priest blinked in surprise and glanced away for a moment.

"It is a romantic gesture. I believe anyone would appreciate the thought of being promised before the goddess." Marianne answered and looked back at Linhardt. "Even the professor."

Linhardt thanked Marianne and swiftly left before the woman could speak any more on the topic and send him to sleep. He rushed to the professor's room, ensuring no one was around before he scribbled Byleth a note.


	6. The Great Bridge of Myrddin

Linhardt wasn't usually one to fret. It wasn't worth the little energy he possessed. He characteristically left his worrying to his good friend Caspar – who worried enough for the both of them – or Ferdinand – who deemed himself Linhardt's teacher in the etiquettes of noble society. But without the two of them here, it was just him and the gut-wrenching feeling that he'll never get to feel strong arms draw him in again. Linhardt had waited, patiently. It was all he could do in his self-sentenced position. He had shuffled up the Goddess Tower's never-ending staircase and found himself gazing at the glass stained windows in interest. It only invoked his attention for a small period before Linhardt began to set an unrestful pace. Back and forth, wondering what was taking Byleth so long. He had surely seen the scribbled note by now. It was well past midnight; even if his meeting had run long, he would be in his room moments later. Linhardt had abruptly paused in his stepping and let out a shaky uneven breath. The warlock allowed his heart to sink dangerously low at the realisation that Byleth was evidently not coming. Linhardt wouldn't be able to apologise for his disastrous and self-centered actions and produce the ring in his pocket and propose and declare his love for the man. It was a flippant excuse of an apology, but it worked for many students back in their school days. Linhardt had borne witness to many occasions. His nose in a book when an arguing couple would come marching past his napping tree. They'd fall out, get a little pushy before somehow one of them would declare that their love was stronger than 'this' – whatever that meant – and they'd start locking lips in front of the disgusted warlock. Linhardt had finally pushed Byleth's tolerance too far, too hard. He felt utterly foolish and his insides riddled ruthlessly with guilt. Why couldn't he just appreciate what he had in front of him? The self-reprimanding sigh he exhaled was drowned by the hurried callings of his name. He turned to the sound in confusion and saw the bespectacled Ignatz running hastily towards him.

"Ignatz?" Linhardt tilted his head and waited for the assassin to catch his breath before he addressed why he was here. "Whatever is wrong?"

"We're heading out," Ignatz informed him and grabbed at Linhardt's wrist.

"But we've only just returned." The warlock responded. "I have yet to rest, I- "

"-Come on, the professor is waiting."

The simply utter of Byleth's title had the warlock immediately yielding and he allowed the assassin to drag him away from the Goddess Tower, with the aching feeling that this would be the last opportunity to ever tell Byleth his true intentions. Linhardt idly rubbed his wrist after Ignatz let go and they headed through the monastery. The warlock witnessed knights running around on errands, gathering supplies and getting surplus armour and weapons ready.

"Where are we going?" Linhardt asked absentmindedly as they passed the dining hall.

"The Great Bridge of Myrddin," Ignatz informed the warlock who blinked at the assassin in surprise. It fully settled in his mind a fraction of a second later and he was suddenly horrified.

"But the Empire has full control on both sides. Count Gloucester has made sure to keep the Alliance holding where they stand and delaying the Empire itself from continuing its conquest of Fódlan." Linhardt pulled Ignatz to a stop. "I must speak with the professor- Claude even." He insisted.

"You speak my name and I shall appear." Claude suddenly materialised behind Linhardt, causing the warlock to jolt in mild surprise. The warlock turned around and disregarded the archer's light comment and spoke of the task at hand.

"I do not think you realise what is going on down by the bridge." Linhardt started and then stopped waiting for Claude to allow him to elaborate. He wouldn't freely give up information, he never had. It always took Hubert all his patience and tolerance for the warlock to finally ask Linhardt for his opinion. It was both humorous and joyful for him to compete with the Imperial advisor in a staring contest.

"By all means Linhardt, go on." Claude motioned easily for the warlock to continue. "Anything you have to say could be extremely valuable."

"To even access the great bridge, you must go through Gloucester territory. I have no doubt Lorenz has spoken to you about the vast number of troops guarding the count's adjacent side of the bridge, not only from the accroaching Alliance but from the occupying Empire as well." Linhardt explained and wrapped his hand around his chin while the other crossed against his chest. "I received many intercepted letters from Count Gloucester and Edelgard herself. He is keeping the bridge under Empire rule in favour of keeping his territory untouched. I know Edelgard will only allow it for some time before she puts her full force towards taking the Leicester Alliance land for herself."

"Lorenz informed me that Count Gloucester has sided with the Empire." Claude nodded at Linhardt, processing the new information along with corresponding Linhardt's words with Lorenz's own. "I did find it odd how quickly he fell into line – considering he refused to give me the light of day as the heir to the Alliance," Claude mumbled the last bit, but the warlock chose to overlook it in service of the vital battle that was inevitably coming.

"You cannot just expect us to go marching in. Edelgard also has stationed General Ladislava to ensure victory. We will be slaughtered before dawn has risen." Linhardt furrowed his brow and looked Claude in the eye. "Please, Claude, you must see to reason."

"It's okay, Linhardt. We got it under control." Claude smiled confidently and patted the warlock on the shoulder. "Trust me. I know what I'm doing."

"There are other things I must speak with you about. It could undoubtedly aid you in your seemingly unwavering assault." Linhardt informed Claude who regarded Ignatz first before motioning over his shoulder.

"Ignatz could you find Lorenz for me? I think he'll want to hear this too."

The warlock waited for Ignatz to nod and disappear before falling into step with the Alliance leader- somewhat relieved and thankful someone was finally listening to him. Linhardt held information about the Empire that he knew Edelgard would undoubtedly have him executed for. It was vital for Claude's victory along with Fódlan's restoration.

As they marched into Alliance territory Linhardt noticed the Golden Deer's seemed to lighten. They were at home here; they were passing through their distinct land and air. He silently hoped it would help with the battle to come. Claude had revealed after Linhardt had departed his incredibly vast knowledge – even he didn't know he had – to both the archer and dark paladin, that there was a Kingdom troop of soldiers following them. Linhardt could tell that Claude suspected it to be the Kingdom's monarch, mentioning that no one would dare enter another's country in their pursuit besides the crazed Dimitri. Linhardt had asked Ashe as much as they found themselves side by side again. The archer smiled and nodded in hope.

"I hope more than anything that His Highness is alive."

Linhardt hummed in reply and watched as a rather large portion of their army split away. The older woman was leading them, Judith – Linhardt believed was her name – was an accomplished warrior and head of House Daphnel. He hadn't had any interaction with her but did notice her eye on him at times. He assumed it was to assess his part in all this. Whether he was truly a friend or foe. He ignored it, for the most part, only acknowledging her when she would disrespect Claude's title by calling him 'Boy'. Linhardt would need to research the woman and how she was so friendly with her leader. It wasn't the most pressing subject at this time and filed it away to the back of his mind for later.

* * *

Ferdinand was grooming his stallion when the news of a battle begun. He knew it had been coming after an archer jogged over to tell him that the Count's troops had been diverted to a group of Alliance soldiers to the north of Gloucester territory. Ferdinand wasn't sure what he was supposed to expect, but when Ladislava came over and ordered her troops to prepare for the coming battle he knew it was serious. The battle lasted sometime before the enemy took the advantage, the news of the heir of house Gloucester cutting Acheron – the Empire's reinforcements – down where he stood in irrefutable anger and betrayal turned the tides for the Alliance. Ferdinand knew that Lorenz's actions were justifiable, the numerous times the purple-haired man had shared his woes over tea about the territory feuds he continuously settled between his father and the foul, selfish Acheron. Ferdinand snapped his gaze when he heard movement over the wooden bridge and watched Ladislava retreat; wounded and beaten. The surprise was only temporary when he saw the professor chasing her down like a hunter with his prey on the run. Ferdinand swiftly came to her aid and put himself between the professor and the Imperial general.

"Your opponent is me, Professor." Ferdinand jumped down from his horse and swung his lance with precision and excellence. He watched his once upon a time teacher narrow his eyes and hold his sword ready to attack. Ferdinand struck first and was holding himself well until a perfectly placed arrow smacked against his lance-armed hand. He gasped in shock and was forced to let go of his weapon. Ferdinand found himself on his back, blade against his throat. The professor was gazing down at him, his eyes flittering as if looking for a surrender. When he found none, Ferdinand hardened his stare and took a breath as the professor began to raise his sword.

"Teach!" Claude ran over to them and grabbed his professor's shoulder. "Marianne's hurt."

The professor blinked and quickly retreated from Ferdinand who staggered his breathing in relief.

"Is she okay?" Byleth asked as he roughly picked Ferdinand up by his collar.

"Linhardt is treating her now," Claude replied. Ferdinand's hand tightened against the professor's wrist and he used his other hand to grab Claude's golden cape. The archer hitched his breath and kept his surprised yelp under control as he was yanked back.

"Linhardt?" Ferdinand turned them both around and inhaled sharply. "He's here? Take me to him."

The professor hummed as he eyed him in consideration. He released Ferdinand from his grasp and nodded once when he sought no ill will towards the warlock. Claude and Byleth led Ferdinand across the bridge and towards the huddled group of people he recognised immediately. As they parted for the professor, Ferdinand ran to the fussing dark green-haired male crouched over the whispering shy priest.

"Linhardt?" Ferdinand called to him and paused in his footing as the warlock snapped his head towards him. A few smears of blood were streaked against Linhardt's cheek and chin. His eyes were wide with concentration and repugnance. When their eyes met the warlock's, eyes seemed to dull and settle on familiarity at the man calling to him.

"Ferdinand." Linhardt rose only after he was sure Marianne was alright. He sent the man a small smile in greeting. "Are you alright? It looks like you've seen a ghost."

Ferdinand let out a bout of laughter and smiled back. "I very may well be. Edelgard pronounced you dead."

"Dead?" Linhardt's brow lifted and looked down at himself. "I am very much alive."

Ferdinand laughed again. "I can scarcely believe it."

"Wait, Edelgard told you Linhardt was dead?" Claude appeared in their peripheral visions. "What did she say exactly?" He inquired in thrilling curiosity.

Ferdinand eyed the Alliance leader in contempt before he looked down at Linhardt who had placed his hand on his arm in comfort.

"I'd like to know also," Linhardt said.

"Ah, very well," Ferdinand spoke after a moment of silence. "She informed us all that you were separated from your guard and was killed by rebels from those you deemed as friends. She alleged Claude put an arrow in your back."

Linhardt glanced at the Alliance leader who clenched his jaw at the accusation. Linhardt hummed and shook his head.

"I do not believe Claude is capable of such a feat." Linhardt quipped and smiled lightly at the amusement huff Claude replied with.

"Is that a challenge von Hevring?" Claude grinned back, laying his hands behind his head.

"Not so much a challenge, as more of a statement." The warlock replied. Ferdinand gazed between the two of them and placed his hand to his chest. He bowed to Claude in appreciation.

"Thank you for caring for my dear friend." He said to him before turning back to Linhardt and gave him an apologetic frown. "And I am sorry for not being aware of Edelgard's deception. I hope you can forgive me."

Linhardt looked around them. Everyone was staring, intrigued to know how it would play out. The warlock locked eyes with Byleth and he hitched his breath. The professor was watching him intently, his eyes following the length of his arm to the hand that was still firmly placed on Ferdinand's bicep.

"I will forgive you on one condition," Linhardt spoke still looking at Byleth.

"Anything." Ferdinand insisted and nodded eagerly.

"Come back to the monastery with us. Join our plight against Edelgard." Linhardt looked back to Ferdinand after he received a small but reassuring nod from Byleth.

"What? Linhardt, I cannot possibly do such a thing." Ferdinand's shook his head and placed a hand to his chest. "It is my duty to serve the crown and it's people."

"Edelgard will not forgive you for failing to protect the bridge. We both know that..." Linhardt spoke softly to him and creased his brow. "We have always said you are the noblest of nobles, yet, all I see is a puppet having its strings pulled by a false master. Ferdinand, please, your people need you now more than ever."

Linhardt watched Ferdinand's face contort. He played the right strings to the long-haired man's apparatus and tried to ignore the pride in Claude's smile. Ferdinand looked around, locking eyes with Lorenz who nodded once with passion and Ferdinand sighed in submission.

"You truly believe that this is the answer?" Ferdinand asked Linhardt. "To fight the revolution?"

"This is not a revolution, Edelgard started a war. She removes those who oppose her without regard, including me. I know you are a better man than your father. You are Ferdinand von Aegir, a nobleman of honour. Do the right thing." Linhardt persuaded and motioned to the people around them. Ferdinand clenched his jaw as he contemplated Linhardt's speech.

"You certainly have a way with words, you know that Linhardt?" Ferdinand smiled at him and waved in surrender. "Very well, I will join you. But I do not wish for your compliments any longer. It is odd to hear them escape your lips."

"Good. That was exhausting." Linhardt confessed and his eyes drooped as he yawned. Ferdinand laughed and grinned, bringing his arm and fist up in a sudden gust of happiness.

"Let us be off!" He exclaimed.

Byleth came to stand beside Linhardt and he stilled. This was the closest he had been since Byleth shaved his stunted emotional wall and threw it at the equally emotive warlock. The hand to his shoulder had Linhardt tilting his head to look the professor in the eye.

"May I speak with you when we return?" He asked and Linhardt swiftly nodded and felt his flooded heart float to the surface.

* * *

**I hope everyone has a great and safe Christmas!**


	7. Not just a Crest

The journey back to the monastery was thankfully an easy one for Linhardt. Perched upon Ferdinand's stallion, leaning heavily against the paladin's back. Linhardt had been reveling in the presence of Byleth who had yet to disappear from his side when Ferdinand had returned with his horse. The armoured-gloved hand that offered its assistance was eagerly taken by Linhardt, unintentionally overlooking that he had left Byleth's side so quickly without regard. But by the time he let out a small groan of relief as the weight was taken from the soles of his feet, turning to address the professor, he was nowhere to be seen. As they marched across Alliance land, Linhardt began to snooze against Ferdinand and hummed in content. His eyes fluttered closed several times, sluggishly waking from time to time after the horse manoeuvred from lower to higher ground.

"Linhardt?" Ferdinand called to him and tried to gaze at him from over his shoulder for a moment. The warlock could only hum in response, gently brushing the paladin's golden locks away as they threatened to tickle his face. "The Professor is continuously gazing over his shoulder at you and I. His demeanour is not one of distrust, though I cannot decipher why he is glaring in such a way."

Linhardt yawned and placed his hand on Ferdinand's shoulder as he pushed himself up to peer over to the accused. Byleth was bluntly staring at Ferdinand with narrowed eyes and creased features. Linhardt couldn't help the small smile that graced his lips. "I do believe the emotion he is feeling is: jealousy."

"Jealousy?" Ferdinand blinked in surprise and turned his head to Linhardt as the warlock leaned his chin on his shoulder in exhaustion. "But I have done nothing to assert such a response."

Linhardt chuckled for a moment and tilted his head slightly as he caught Byleth's eye. He was ready to assure the professor with a raise of his brow and a smile only reserved for him, but the man swiftly turned away and began to converse with Claude. The warlock frowned and slipped back behind Ferdinand, slumping back against the paladin and didn't bother to brush the stray golden hairs that had settled on his cheek.

"Are you alright, my friend?" Ferdinand asked him with a concerned tone. "Have I done something to upset the two of you?"

"No, Ferdinand." Linhardt shook his head against the paladin's back and sighed quietly. "We're just having a bit of a – quarrel – at the moment."

"A quarrel, you say?" Ferdinand knitted his brow as he watched the professor. "May I inquire as to what kind of quarrel includes that of jealousy? Is there anything I can be of service to?" He asked Linhardt who nuzzled his head into his back.

"No, but thank you, Ferdinand," Linhardt replied.

"Well, whatever it is, Linhardt, I am sure the two of you will work it out," Ferdinand said cheerfully. "You are both too tenacious to allow – if I may guess? – such a misunderstanding to ruin your relationship."

Linhardt lightened somewhat and thanked Ferdinand by patting his shoulder blade. The hum of approval he received back was enough for the warlock to finally close his eyes and drift off to sleep.

Linhardt woke as Ferdinand heeded his mount to stop. The warlock slowly sat back up and yawned loudly, flittering his eyes around to find himself at the markets just in front of the monastery. He was jostled slightly as Ferdinand climbed off the horse and placed his hand on the stallion's croup to steady himself with the movement. Linhardt had expected Ferdinand to offer his hand once again and was pleasantly surprised to see Byleth right in front of him. His hand was outstretched for the warlock to take, his face was a blank slate, but Linhardt smiled nonetheless. He placed his fingers in Byleth's palm and warmed significantly as the professor closed his hand over them and helped Linhardt off the horse. The warlock gulped lightly as Byleth's hand came to rest on his waist as he was dropped delicately to his feet. Linhardt managed to give Ferdinand a quick glance to see the man smiling reassuringly at him. Linhardt smiled back and returned his attention back to Byleth as Ferdinand began to pull his steed towards the stables.

"Can we have that talk now?" Byleth asked Linhardt after he relinquished his hold on the warlock. Linhardt nodded and followed after the professor. Byleth led him to the edge of the pond and blinked in curiosity as the man removed a handkerchief from his cloak. Linhardt stayed quiet and watched as Byleth crouched down to wet the material. Linhardt stilled as Byleth stood back up and pushed Linhardt's hair behind his ear and let his hand rest on the nape of the warlock's neck. The cold sensation of the handkerchief against his chin caused Linhardt to shiver. The hold on his neck tightened slightly and the warlock was unable to suppress the small inappropriate thoughts that sprung to mind. "Thank you for healing Marianne."

Linhardt fluttered his eyelashes as he focused on the words that Byleth just parted with. Byleth turned his attention to his cheek and the warlock pushed himself to reply instead of absorbing himself in the touches that Byleth's fingers were providing.

"It was nothing." He replied and gave the professor a knowing look. "I still wish to work on my faith skills."

"I know," Byleth smirked a little. "We just need you to work on your swordplay so you can take your exam."

Linhardt pursed his lips and sighed in submission and quipped his lips into a small smile. "You know best, of course, my professor."

"Hilda told me what she did for you," Byleth informed Linhardt after he finished cleaning the blood away. The warlock suddenly froze and opened his mouth to speak; nothing escaped and Linhardt blinked and tried to interpret the professor's reaction. "She didn't mean to–" The man defended the young woman. Linhardt still didn't speak and tried to catch up and control his vigorous thoughts. He blanked out what Byleth said next, no doubt explaining how and what Hilda had told him. Whatever had happened, it was now obvious to Linhardt that Byleth knew there was a ring involved. It was beginning to burn a hole in his pocket, the thought of just pulling it out and pushing it onto the professor's finger was itching at the forefront of his mind. He was dragged back into the conversation when Byleth removed his hand from his neck and folded his arms.

"Huh? What?" Linhardt asked stupidly. Byleth smiled and shook his head with fondness.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"I – umm – no." He answered honestly and bowed his head in guilt. Byleth curled his finger around Linhardt's chin and pushed his head upwards so they were looking at one another.

"I would like to look at the ring. If that's okay?" Byleth moved his hand away and waited for Linhardt to make the next move. The warlock knew this situation was extremely important, the most important in his life so far. The planning that should be involved, the serious decisions that came with asking a lifelong question should have been the immediate concern. But it was all disregarded for the rush of pure desire Linhardt felt for the new archbishop. He stuffed his hand in his pocket, fumbling with the ring as he tried to grasp it. He pulled it out in his fist and hovered his hand over Byleth's awaiting hand. Linhardt paused and the guilt he felt as he paced in the Goddess Tower returned in waves.

"Byleth, I'd like to apologise for my actions." Linhardt pulled his hand away after opening it to allow the ring to land on the professor's palm. "What I asked of Flayn, I was truly inconsiderate of your position. Please know that I have thought about marriage – to you – and I want it more than anything else. I had planned to say all this in the Goddess Tower, but now seems a good a time as any."

Byleth watched the warlock for a moment making Linhardt ever so slightly uncomfortable with the lack of response – besides the hollow gaze staring right through him. Byleth tilted his head down to his palm and the ring that sat there. He held it up between his index finger and thumb and delayed his response by inspecting it.

"What you did – it hurt, Linhardt – but you know that." Byleth looked back at the warlock who was clearly showing how apologetic he was. "I'm sorry for the harsh words I spoke to you. I truly believe your research is a noble ambition. When I saw how close you were with Ferdinand; I could no longer keep you at arm's length. I love you, Linhardt no matter if I am simply a Crest to you or not."

"I don't think of you as a Crest, I never have. And I love you." The warlock swiftly replied. "I wish to marry no one other than you."

"Do you still have my ring?" Byleth asked and Linhardt nodded fishing it out from his other pocket. He handed it over to Byleth and allowed his professor to make the next move. Whatever the consequence, Linhardt had accomplished what he set out to do. "Linhardt?"

"Yes, Byleth?"

"Will you do the honour of becoming my husband?" He asked with a smile. Linhardt could have collapsed on the spot from the sheer relief, instead, he focused on the hand that tenderly took his own. It was clear Byleth was waiting for Linhardt to answer and he nodded. Byleth slowly slid his ring on Linhardt's finger and the warlock closed his eyes as he tried to gauge to whether it was a perfect fit. When he felt a pair of lips press against the cold metal and his skin, Linhardt opened his eyes and smiled. The ring was beautiful and he wasn't able to stare at it for long before Byleth pulled him forward into his embrace. Linhardt smiled lazily as his professor kissed his lips and placed his hands on Byleth's shoulders to steady himself. "We'll marry after the war when I'm officially appointed Archbishop."

"You wish to continue with that title?" Linhardt asked in his happy daze. "Even if Rhea is alive?"

"We'll see, but I would not mind. I've learned so much about the Goddess." Byleth cupped Linhardt's cheek. "This is my home now, where my parents lived. I'd like to stay close, and I know you do not wish to return home any time soon."

"Then I shall stay with you." Linhardt grabbed Byleth's hand and removed it from his face. He hooked his fingers into Byleth's other hand and seized the ring. He slipped it on the professor's finger and smiled. "We can nap whenever we want, fish in the pond and laze under my favourite tree in the shading sun."

"I think we could make that happen." Byleth chuckled lightly and leaned their foreheads together. "For now, let's make it out of this war alive."

They pulled away from one another when they heard several footsteps from afar, and they shared an intimate smile before turning to see who was approaching them. Claude, Lorenz, and Ashe greeted them; each with a differing quip of their lips. Claude was grinning in triumph, Ashe in a newfound hope and Lorenz just of out politeness.

"It's His Highness, Dimitri." Ashe beamed. Linhardt noticed the parchment in his grasp and peeked over Byleth's shoulder after the sniper passed the letter to him. "I received a letter from Annette. She and Mercedes's have joined her father and Dimitri."

"So, he is alive." The professor read the contents and looked up at Claude. "You knew."

"I had a feeling." Claude shrugged and shuffled on the spot as he placed his hands behind his head. "It looks like they're heading to Gronder Field."

"There is a portion of the Empire's army heading to intercept them." Lorenz continued. "Our scouts originally believed they were sent to recapture the bridge."

Linhardt hummed in thought. He curled his hand around his chin and looked at Lorenz. "How large was the troop?"

"Larger than any we've encountered before in either the Kingdom or Alliance." He responded and pulled his arm up in his usual pose and motioned forward with his hand. "You believe there is something significant to the size?"

"I believe Edelgard is within those numbers," Linhardt revealed to them and Claude faltered ever so slightly.

"How could you know that?" Ashe asked.

"I have no doubt Edelgard knows that Dimitri is alive, therefore I believe she will intercept him before he gains any more ground in her country," Linhardt replied. "They have a past; she knows he is dangerous. From what I have heard, his Royal Highness has somewhat of a beast inside him."

"He has anger issues, sure," Claude tilted his head and lowered his arms. "But he's not unreasoned."

"Whether he is or not, with the little assembly he has, he will need aid," Byleth spoke and shared an equalled thoughted gaze with Claude.

"So, we're agreed?" The Alliance leader grinned.

"Agreed? To what?" Lorenz placed his hand on Claude's shoulder and clenched his jaw when he saw Byleth smile. "You do not expect us to join this feud."

"Yes, we do actually," Claude smirked at his retainer. "We could gain a crucial ally in this war."

"You proclaim a fair argument," Lorenz sighed and pinched his brow for a moment. "I will inform the others of this development."

He bowed to the professor and Claude before he headed off. Byleth offered the letter back to Ashe and the sniper bowed in tow.

"Ashe, do you think we can persuade Dimitri to join forces?" Claude asked. Linhardt could imagine several plans already formulating in the Alliance leader's mind.

"I do not know." Ashe apologised for his unsureness. "When Edelgard declared war five years ago something in His Highness snapped. He is not the same as he was before. Perhaps if we persuade the others to join us then Dimitri will follow."

"He can't get far without troops." Claude hummed and nodded. "If we can coax him with his driven goal– "

Linhardt tuned him out, the specifics of schemes and strategies always bored the warlock to sleep. Instead, he looked down at his hand and the finger that was now encompassed with the ring from his beloved. He smiled to himself and began to daydream about his future, eyes flittering shut, unaware of the arms of the professor closing around him as he fell forward.


	8. The battle at Gronder

Linhardt was finding the solace in the silence and isolation rather dreary. It had been two days since Byleth had announced over dinner that he, Claude, and Lorenz were leaving to make one last attempt to bring the Alliance together in union. Linhardt had frowned deeply but recognised that Byleth was a well sought-after man, acting as the sole trustworthy protagonist to the losing war. He had assured the warlock it would only take a couple of days, and he'd be back before they needed to start making their way to Gronder Field. Linhardt, Hilda, and Ferdinand bid them farewell at the gates of the monastery. Claude had dismissed Ferdinand's insistent offer of accompanying them as an Empire representative, assuring him that he was not needed _yet_. Linhardt had risen a brow at his words and Ferdinand sighed but nodded in understanding. Hilda had hugged Lorenz and prodded his arm gently as they spoke quietly to one another. Linhardt smiled as Byleth pecked his lips and whispered that he'd miss the warlock while he was away. As Claude took to the sky on his wyvern, Byleth took his spot behind Lorenz on his mare. Hilda waved enthusiastically as they rode away and the three of them sighed when they lost sight of the horse. Ferdinand invited them to join him for a cup of tea, Hilda quickly agreeing to his offer while Linhardt shook his head.

Now here he was, in the library, nose stuck in a book. He wasn't sure how long he had been detached from the world around him, but when he heard a clearing of a throat, he blinked and looked up. Professor Hanneman was smiling lightly at him and seemed proud that he had found him.

"Ah, Linhardt, just the scholar I needed to see." Hanneman greeted him with a compliment that Linhardt immediately found suspicious.

"Is there something I can help you with, Professor Hanneman?" Linhardt asked and closed the book he had been invested in. The grey-haired man hummed slightly before he nodded and curled his finger around his chin.

"I was hoping to acquire your assistance in some research I am currently advancing." He revealed to the warlock who perked up at the thought of being able to assist the Father of Crestology. Linhardt rose from his spot and pulled his book to his chest.

"I would be honoured, but are you sure it's me that you prefer?" Linhardt seemed unconvinced that his lack of work demeanour was an attribute Hanneman was seeking. The greying man let out a bout of laugher and nodded.

"I have never met anyone, aside from myself, who attests interest to Crests as much as you do, Linhardt," Hanneman said. "I would ask no other."

Linhardt turned to put the book back on the shelf before coming to stand before the professor. He recalled the few conversations he had shared with Hanneman back when he was a student. The older man's utter confusion to Linhardt's sudden superior interest in fishing rather than the study of Crests. The curiosity Linhardt held as he asked Hanneman about his own lack of motivation and how the grey-haired man could continue for so many years without much progress. Linhardt had read most of professor Hanneman's papers and notes on all the Crest knowledge the man had acquired through the years of his research. It was enlightening and had held his interest longer than anything had before. He knew then that Crests were something he was intrigued by, something he wanted to test, discover and exploit.

"Lead the way." The warlock smiled as Hanneman blinked in minor shock – seemingly having prepared himself for dismissal – before he turned on his heel and strolled out the library. Linhardt followed after him and smiled to himself. They spend the afternoon discussing Hanneman's current research. Linhardt was hesitant to start, wondering if the Father of Crestology would not take kindly to his recommendations. However, Hanneman took them in stride and was more than willing to let Linhardt prattle away. The warlock was beyond exhausted by the time the two decided to call it a day.

"Thank you for collaborating with me, you have such an insightful way of looking at such complications." Hanneman smiled and opened the door for Linhardt. The warlock staggered to his feet and yawned loudly.

"Thank you for allowing me to help," Linhardt replied politely and stretched his arms above his head. "Well, good night Professor."

"Linhardt, before you go-" Hanneman said causing the warlock to pause as he crossed the threshold. "-would you, perhaps, like to work together again?"

Linhardt stared at Hanneman in surprise and processed what the man asked of him. There weren't many who could tolerate working with him. While he had been in the Black Eagle class, Caspar was usually his partner unless instructed otherwise. Hubert had always been far too impatient with Linhardt's lack of concentration and immediately banished him to allow the imperial retainer to work their projects alone. Ferdinand seemed to work better when Linhardt was sleeping beside him; waking up to find the prime minister's son having completed their work and patiently waiting for Linhardt to proofread and approve his effort. Bernadetta would insist on working separately from him, hidden away in her room. They would spend minimal time in each other's presence, only coming together the day before to ensure their work harmonised. Dorothea seemed to endure his laziness better than others but always ended up requesting to the current professor for a new partner – preferably one that didn't tune her out as soon as she started talking. Petra was undoubtedly the easiest to work with, but her persistent attitude was difficult for Linhardt to abide by when he was insipidly sleepy. Edelgard had been unrelenting with deadlines and checked up on his progress anytime Linhardt would begin to think of taking a break.

When he had transferred to the Golden Deer, his first project partner had been Claude himself. The von Riegan heir was just as airy towards the work as Linhardt had been. When they had finally decided they should work before Byleth happily gave them detention, they unexpectedly worked well together. Claude would articulate and Linhardt would script it without question. When Claude read what Linhardt had written he was surprised to find the Golden Deer leader impressed with the added difference of opinion the former Black Eagle student unconsciously wrote.

"You wish to work with me?" Linhardt started, realising he had yet to answer the Crest scholar. Hanneman nodded in response.

"I have been looking for a successor to my life long studies. I do believe I have found them." Hanneman smiled at Linhardt who was thrown back into shocked silence. "Have I asked too much of you?" – Hanneman began to doubt and swiftly apologised. – "I did not mean to put such pressure on you."

"No!" Linhardt exclaimed and shook his head at Hanneman before he gave the taken aback grey-haired man a small smile. "Can I think about it? I do not want to rush such a decision, for both our sakes."

"Oh, but of course!" Hanneman swiftly replied.

Linhardt still had yet to make a decision on Hanneman's proposal by the time Byleth and the others returned. He greeted the professor with a relieved hug, which was returned with a sweet kiss and a smile. Everyone was pleased to hear the Alliance has finally united once again, none more so than Lorenz, who had been increasingly worried about his father's stance. Linhardt was struck by Claude's leadership. It wasn't often one could salvage a dying and separated country from the claws of an empowering enemy that was still well within the rights of supremacy. As they ate dinner that night, the room was filled with life. There was no longer the fear or dread that their home would finally succumb to the Empire's rule. Laughter and cheery words were shared and Linhardt was privileged to be a part of the celebration. Claude and Byleth had broadcast; that though they now had a unified front, it was still a long way until the war was over. They needed to focus on the battle ahead at Gronder Field and not get complacent.

As Byleth and Linhardt took a walk – hand in hand – after dinner, the warlock informed him of his time with Hanneman and his offer. The warlock revealed his hesitation and smiled when he saw the understanding of Byleth's behaviour after his confession.

"You are two different people, I'm sure he will understand you will want to do things your own way," Byleth replied and brought Linhardt's hand to his lips. "I think the two of you will do great work together."

"I'll accept if our first study is you." Linhardt gave Byleth a mischievous gaze and the man sighed.

"I guess I have no choice." Byleth brought Linhardt closer when they stopped outside the warlock's door. "Would you like to start the study now?"

Linhardt gasped lightly as Byleth kissed his jaw experimentally and melted into his professor. Byleth hummed as the warlock succumbed to his touch and carried him into his room.

* * *

Linhardt woke the next morning embraced from behind. He checked to make sure it was, in fact, Byleth and he hadn't been dreaming yet again. The tired hum and the feel of the professor's nose nuzzling into his hair caused a shiver to race down Linhardt's spine.

"Good morning, Linhardt," Byleth whispered and turned slack as the warlock turned slowly in his hold. Linhardt leaned close and kissed Byleth tenderly.

"Morning, Byleth." He murmured drowsily and gave the man a weary smile. Linhardt closed his eyes as Byleth began to run his fingers through his hair and sighed in content at the tingling feeling it numbed through his body. He opened them again when Byleth stirred and removed his hands from the warlock's locks, finding him sitting up in bed. "Already?"

"Afraid so," Byleth smiled softly and leaned over Linhardt to nibble at his neck. The warlock wrapped his hands around the professor's neck and exhaled lazily at the pleasure of Byleth's mouth against his skin.

"Maybe I can persuade you otherwise," Linhardt whispered in the professor's ear. Byleth smirked against Linhardt's collarbone and hummed in consideration. He moved up and away from the warlock who whined in protest.

"As tempting as the offer is, I can't." Byleth dragged Linhardt up with him, who swiftly clamped his mouth to his own. He readily kissed Linhardt for another minute or two, only pulling away when they both started to explore each other's naked bodies. "We have a war council to attend."

Linhardt huffed and dramatically fell back onto the bed. Byleth chuckled in amusement and rose to get changed and to gather the warlock's own clothes. Linhardt watched him with a languid gaze, taking in every muscle tone and scar Byleth had on show. With another five minutes of coaxing from the professor, Linhardt finally decided to start the day. He allowed Byleth to dress him, reveling in every touch and kiss he willingly gave. They made their way to the council room to find Claude, Lorenz, and Seteth already inside.

"Morning." Claude greeted them with a casual salute.

It wasn't long before the others made their way inside, some yawning in early protest, others actively ready to start. The meeting thankfully didn't last too long. Claude and Byleth simply went over the plans for the battle, discussing possible scenarios and how to adjust to the unseen. After everyone seemed happy with the final strategy, they were given an hour before they were called to head out.

* * *

The Alliance arrived just as the battle began; Linhardt, watching the red of the Imperial army rush forth to clash with the blue of the Kingdom's battalion. Edelgard and Dimitri had yet to make an appearance, but the young purple-haired woman upon the central hill arming the ballista, had Linhardt looking over at Ferdinand. The paladin had hoped that they would not face any of their classmates and the distressed look in his eye had Linhardt feeling sympathy for him.

"Remember, the Kingdom will unlikely see us as allies, so remain on guard. Only retaliate if they do so in return." Claude called out to them before taking to the sky to lead the attack. Linhardt took a deep breath and followed Hilda and Raphael as they charged into the fray. As the battle progressed Linhardt caught glimpses of the empress defending her area with ease; Kingdom soldiers were slain without hesitation. They were nothing but bugs beneath her boots, and it was clear without the Alliance's help, Dimitri's forces would have been decimated. A blood-curling howl sounded close and Linhardt snapped his head to find a hulking figure swinging his royal lance; slicing three enemies at once. The warlock's eyes widened in alarm and watched as a demonic beast blundered its way towards the prince of Faerghus. Before he or anyone close could warn him, Dimitri spun around and roared, ramming his lance into the beast's upper jaw. Linhardt winced as the creature's fang pierced the prince's arm, but Dimitri didn't seem phased. The warlock couldn't focus on the man any longer, swiftly turning his attention to Raphael as he screamed in pain. Linhardt rushed forward, faltering only for a moment before bringing forth his magic and sending two fireballs towards the Brigid woman, who stabbed his ally in the shoulder. Ignatz appeared from the shadows and took Petra's attention while Linhardt healed Raphael. He attempted to ignore the flowing blood and focused on the pained, but thankful smile the brawler offered him. It was only moments later Raphael re-joined the fray. Linhardt covered his ears as a sudden explosion echoed. He gasped in horror as the central hill was alight with flames. The warlock feet moved on autopilot, having seen Byleth there only a few minutes before. Linhardt continued to run as he witnessed Byleth and Leonie carrying two bodies away from the flames. The kingdom soldier leaning heavily against the Pegasus knight was ignored by the warlock as his focus went to the professor and the unconscious purple-haired girl in his arms.

"Byleth!" Linhardt cried out in relief and checked him over for injuries. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." He assured him. The warlock nodded before he focused on Bernadetta. Byleth knelt down and laid the girl on the grass, allowing Linhardt a better view of the patient. Linhardt healed the few burns that would scar the smooth untouched skin and looked up at Byleth who tapped his shoulder for his attention. "Why don't you take her to the west? At the edge of the battlefield. It'll be the best place to treat wounds."

Linhardt nodded and grabbed Byleth's wrist as he turned away to return to fight.

"Be careful," Linhardt said letting go of the professor's wrist, only after the man assured him with a smile. Leonie nudged the warlock with her foot and motioned with her head.

"Let's go."

Linhardt healed the wounded that slowly gathered, more and more collapsing as the battle continued. Marianne soon took over which allowed Linhardt to return to the fight. He found that most of the Imperial army had been defeated. As he crept along, he saw Hubert retreating in the distance; limping heavily on one leg. Linhardt's attention was taken when he heard a horrified cry of angered pain. Dimitri was pulling Edelgard's axe from his shoulder, ignoring the gushing of blood as he pushed the woman away with his untold strength. Linhardt began to run as the woman fell to the ground and held her diaphragm in agony. Two of her soldiers helped her up, blocking Dimitri's way, causing the Faerghus prince to growl savagely. Despite being somewhat of a distance away, Linhardt could see Dimitri was shaking, not from anger, but from exhaustion and lack of blood. The few Imperial soldiers left crowded around the prince and rose their lances, ready to impale the beast.

"NO!" Linhardt yelled and sliced his hand through the air letting all the wind magic he possessed smack into the enemy soldiers. He watched them fly through the air – some rose and retreated, the others remained still in death. Linhardt threw himself down by Dimitri's side as the Faerghus prince collapsed onto his front. The flinch the warlock presented was involuntary, the one feral blue eye of the injured prince glared at him like prey. Linhardt hovered his hand over Dimitri's shoulder.

"I'm not going to hurt you." He spoke, hoping the man would understand his intentions. Linhardt took a deep breath after Dimitri turned his gaze away, defeated, and began to heal him – well, he would have – expect he suddenly found himself being ripped away from the Faerghus prince and pushed aggressively against a tree. The blade pressed to his throat caused Linhardt to gasp soundlessly and focus on the blade's owner.

"What did you do to the Boar?!" Felix demanded with narrowed eyes. Linhardt was too petrified to answer and whined instinctively as Felix nicked his skin and glanced over to Dimitri.

"I-I just want to help." Linhardt managed to answer, voice quiet and threatening to crack. Felix scoffed at his answer and pushed his blade further into Linhardt's neck. "Please! He's dying!"

Linhardt rose a brow when Felix stiffened and instantly lightened the hold he had on him. The blade was still pressed to his throat but it wasn't cutting at his skin anymore. Linhardt was sure his words did nothing to persuade Felix, so he was curious as to who or what was causing the man to freeze in such a way. His question was answered when he heard a familiar feminine voice from behind Felix.

"Drop the blade and walk back slowly."

Linhardt grabbed his neck immediately after Felix dropped his sword, ignoring the blood that trickled through his fingers. He watched his oppressor raise his hands in the air in surrender and walk back slowly with Hilda's axe against his back. Linhardt's legs shook with instability and he had to press his hand into the flaking bark behind him to steady himself.

"Go, Linhardt. Save him." Hilda motioned to the unmoving Dimitri. Linhardt nodded and took note of the snarl and glare he received from Felix before he knelt back down beside the prince and closed the wound on his shoulder. The warlock used all the magic he had left in him to close as many of the open stab wounds and burns he could. Linhardt collapsed back, depleted and exhausted, looking over at Hilda and Felix to let them know that Dimitri would survive. He watched Hilda remove the axe on Felix's back before he fell unconscious, the feral eye of the Faerghus prince watching him as everything went black.


	9. The beastly prince of Faerghus

Linhardt fluttered his eyes open, wholly unaware of where he was. He could recall healing Dimitri at Gronder Field, and the prince's beaten but hungry gaze before he passed out. After that everything was unknown to him. He was unaware of who carried him from the battlefield, who had ensured his safety to lay him on this bed. An involuntary shiver ran down the rivets of his spine as the cold air tickled his bare neck and face. He whined slightly in pain as his fatigued body shifted with the movement.

"Oh, Linhardt."

The warlock's eyes wandered over at the table from where the voice resonated, to see professor Manuela quickly rising from her chair. He was in the infirmary it seemed.

"How are you feeling?" She asked as she approached his bedside. Linhardt attempted to raise his arm to test his abilities only to find himself unable to.

"Weak." He replied and tilted his head into a more comfortable position on the pillow.

"You did use up all your magical energy." Manuela tutted and smiled softly. "Though I am impressed you have awoken so early."

Linhardt hummed in reply and looked over at the empty bed beside him. Several thoughts ran through his mind in that instant– all starring the prince of Faerghus. Had Linhardt not truly been able to save the Faerghus monarch? Had his remaining magic not been enough? The warlock had been certain Dimitri would have survived the injuries he had been unable to stitch back together.

"Where is-" He started to ask in a drained whisper, only for Manuela to wrongly presume what he was going to ask. Linhardt was too exhausted to immediately correct her and just let her prattle on before he finished his question.

"Byleth? Oh, he's just finishing up a meeting. I'll get a soldier to let him know you're awake." She assured him and straightened out the blanket at his feet.

"-Dimitri?" Linhardt asked and watched Manuela blink in surprise. Her fingers paused above the blanket and Linhardt furrowed his brow. "He's dead?"

Manuela swiftly shook her head and let out a tinkle of laughter. Linhardt breathed out a sigh in relief and closed his eyes briefly in thanks.

"You saved his life. When he woke, the professor and Claude managed to calm him before he ripped the infirmary apart." Manuela pursed her lips and Linhardt could tell the woman was imagining her pride of place decimated beyond repair. She lightly shook the thought from her head before she continued to speak. "He stayed by your bedside for quite some time before he silently left."

"I see. Thank you, professor Manuela." Linhardt yawned and allowed his aching body to drain his mind after receiving the answers he required. He was curious as to why Dimitri thought it necessary to stay close to him but that was a thought for another day. He closed his eyes as the darkness dragged him down, and drowsily hummed in answer as the woman spoke words unknown to him.

* * *

Linhardt woke again when he heard echoes of voices. Manuela was no longer in the room– no doubt relieved for the day and off to douse herself in alcohol. He grumbled at the unanticipated interruption but found himself curious as to who was coming closer. Three distinct voices were arguing among themselves; the two condescending and irrefutable tones drowned out the unamused and irritated third. They came to a stop outside the infirmary and their voices ceased instantly. A few beats of silence hung in the air before harsh whispers between the three ended with a quiet rap of knuckles knocked against the door. Linhardt rose a brow as it remained closed for a moment too long. The door opened after an impulsive shuffle of positions and a body was propelled forcefully inside. The door was pulled shut behind the individual, but not far enough to stop the peeking duo from watching. The swordsman awkwardly shuffled on his toes, meters away from the bed, as he tried to regain his bruised dignity.

"Felix?" Linhardt called to him. The swordsman turned to look at him and the warlock noticed him trailing the expanse of his neck. The warlock had yet to be able to run his fingers over whatever Felix's blade had left on his throat. But the way he huffed in bafflement and made eye contact with him indicated it wasn't serious.

"It has come to my attention-" Felix started before a scoff from the door caused the swordsman to stop and turn his head to glare at tufts of red and blonde snooping from outside. Linhardt waited until Felix gave him his attention once again, and tilted his head for him to continue. "It has come to my attention, that it is customary to apologise to you for unsuccessfully slicing your throat."

Linhardt wasn't quite sure how to reply to that. Felix had averted his gaze as he spoke and folded his arm in defiance. The grinding clench to the swordsman's jaw exhibited that Felix, clearly, never apologised for anything he did in battle. Felix evidently brawls to survive and prove himself, no matter his opponent. Linhardt couldn't fault him for that. They had been foes upon the battlefield and the swordsman was only doing what he deemed was virtuously appropriate in the circumstances.

"You don't need to apologise," Linhardt spoke and smiled lightly in amusement. Felix dropped his arms back to his side and snapped his head back to the warlock.

"What?" He asked in disbelief.

"Though I wish you had not threatened my life, I understand that you were simply fighting your enemy," Linhardt assured him. Felix stayed silent for a second as he processed the warlock's dismissal of an apology. He creased his brow to the point where it could remain permanent and tapped his foot impatiently.

"I knew it," Felix muttered to himself before turning to the door and speaking loudly. "I told you I had no need to apologise."

The door fully opened and Sylvain and Ingrid entered, shock and loss plastered across their faces. Linhardt observed the three of them as another round of harsh whispers caught Linhardt's ears. The warlock waited for them to finish, almost slipping back into a restless slumber. Ingrid and Sylvain stood at the foot of his bed, while Felix situated off to the side; arms folded once more.

"We just want to thank you for saving His Highness." Ingrid started and clasped her hands together in thanks. Sylvain nodded in agreement and beamed at Linhardt.

"You saved us a lot of grief." The redhead moved around and slumped down by Linhardt's chest and took the warlock's feeble hand into his own. "As powerful as you are beautiful."

The charming smile and compliment caused the warlock to blink unimpressed and provoked an irritated scoff from Felix's throat. Ingrid sighed heavily and dragged Sylvain back by his ear. Linhardt noticed the pleased grin on the swordsman's lips, as Sylvain winced and whined at Ingrid in apt apology, as she began scolding him.

"Are you all joining Claude?" Linhardt asked ceasing the internal bickering that was slowly causing a growing discomfort against his brow. The three of them looked over at him and shared a common gaze before Ingrid answered.

"If His Highness comes into agreement with him then, yes. Our loyalty is to His Highness, and His Highness alone."

"It's unlikely anyone will be able to get through to the boar." Felix mocked and sneered his nose up. "He's a beast now."

"A beast?" Linhardt asked in curiosity. Ingrid glared at Felix in disloyalty before shaking her head.

"He is not a beast." She quickly intervened before the swordsman could speak again. All four of them turned their attention to the open doorway when rushing footsteps halted at the framework. Linhardt felt himself warm considerably to see Byleth slightly breathless as he took in who was present.

"Professor." Sylvain greeted throwing his arms behind his head and smiled. "Got anywhere with His Highness yet?"

"Not quite, But Claude is working on it." He replied before he pushed passed them and positioned himself at Linhardt's side. Byleth ran his fingers through Linhardt's hair, tucking it delicately behind his ear. "How are you feeling?"

"Frail." The warlock leaned into the touch and tried to dissuade the concern in Byleth's eye. The professor smiled lightly and sat on the chair that was placed next to his bed. He brought Linhardt's hand to his lips in relief and the warlock felt his body wake to the touch.

"You had me worried," Byleth confessed and let his mouth tickle Linhardt's fingertips. The warlock shifted his body at the feeling and suppressed his reacting laughter.

"Well, I know when I'm no longer welcome." Sylvain chuckled and winked at the two of them. "Come on, Ingrid, Felix. Let's leave the love birds to it."

Linhardt blushed as the three of them left; Ingrid once again thanking the warlock before being yanked by her arm out the infirmary. Byleth insisted Linhardt try to succumb to more sleep, promising him that he wouldn't leave until he woke. The warlock smiled and nodded, closing his eyes in surrender. Byleth to his word remained, but sleep eluded Linhardt in the comfortable stillness. He tilted his head back to the professor and sighed.

"Dimitri?" Byleth asked and Linhardt nodded.

"How is he?"

"Different." The professor replied and smiled sadly. "It's like something's snapped inside him. His humanity is flittering away with every slaughter."

Linhardt hummed and lift his arm with difficulty to cup Byleth's jaw. "If anyone can get through to him, it's you."

Byleth let the sadness leave his smile and he leaned over to kiss Linhardt on the lips. He pulled back despite Linhardt's disapproving pout.

"You always know what to say." He pecked his lips again and covered Linhardt's hand on his cheek with his own. "I love you."

Linhardt felt his cheeks warm further. "I love you too."

* * *

When Linhardt was officially discharged from the infirmary a week later, Manuela insisted he not do anything vigorous for a few more days. The warlock easily complied with her request and found himself lazing by the pond until Byleth was done with yet another meeting.

"Linhardt?"

The warlock tilted his head and looked over his shoulder to see Bernadetta anxiously prodding her index fingers together. Linhardt blinked in surprise, having completely forgotten about the purple-haired girl he had healed.

"Bernadetta." He greeted covering his shock and rose to meet her. "How are you?"

"F-Fine." She stuttered and bit her lip. She whined lightly as she fought within herself not to flee in the warlock's presence. Linhardt waited patiently as he always did with the skittish girl. "I just wanted to thank you for saving m-me."

"You're welcome, Bernadetta," Linhardt replied and bowed slightly. "Though you should also give your thanks to Byleth."

"I have." Bernadetta nodded and smiled feeling slightly more confident. "I've also decided to join the professor and Claude in their pursuit of peace."

Linhardt sat back down again and motioned the girl to join him. She hesitated before submitting to her friend's offer. They conversed for some time before Bernadetta let out a rather undignified scream of terror as a tanned face dropped down in front of her.

"Boo."

Linhardt had even felt his heart miss a skip in fear at the sudden interruption. He couldn't do anything at the scene that unfolded before him. Bernadetta pounced to her feet as her oppressor jerked back before their heads collided and dealt out more damage. The purple-haired girl didn't wait; pushing past and running for her life back to the sanctity of her room. Linhardt sighed and looked pointedly at the man who was beaming in amusement with his arms on his hips.

"Claude…"

"Linhardt." He greeted and couldn't help but laugh. "I'm sorry, but the opportunity couldn't be passed up."

"That was cruel." Linhardt stood and brushed himself over. Claude huffed and suggested the warlock take a walk with him.

"I'll apologise later," Claude said to persuade him. Linhardt regarded the Alliance leader and deemed his offer satisfactory and began to walk in step with him. The warlock became curious as too where Claude was taking him when they passed through the dining room and towards the reception hall. "So, first, I'm glad you're okay."

Linhardt glanced at him and nodded in thanks. They passed through the hall and were now striding across the bridge that led to the cathedral. The warlock gave the archer a questioning gaze to which Claude continued what he wanted to say.

"Second, I need you to speak to Dimitri."

"Excuse me?" Linhardt came to a stop at the gate and glared accusingly at Claude. The Alliance leader smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Just for a second, a minute at most." Claude turned serious. "Look, we need Dimitri on our side. I've tried talking to him, but I only get grunts and cryptic words in response. I would ask Ferdinand, but you healed him, he might recognise that."

"I do not see how that will help at all." Linhardt countered and narrowed his eyes. Claude sighed and nodded in understanding.

"I thought it would be worth a shot. You saved his life Linhardt, that must count for something. And, well, Teach said you would oblige."

The warlock closed his eyes and pinched his nose. He groaned in defeat and tried to ignore the righteous smile that graced Claude's lips. Linhardt didn't give Claude the gratification of hearing his surrender, instead, turning on his heel to march into the cathedral.

The historic building had yet to be restored from the damage that it had endured during the battle against the Imperial army. The mountain of debris piled at the altar seemed to be insignificant, as Linhardt's eyes were drawn to the hunched caped-covered figure that stood before it; unmoving. The warlock cautiously approached him, ensuring he stood on the side where he need merely to tilt his head a fraction to see who was accompanying him. Linhardt waited a few minutes before he cleared his throat. He opened his mouth to speak only for Dimitri's low growl to pierce the air.

"You should have left me to die."

"Why?" Linhardt promptly responded and kept his attention forward; towards the brick and mortar.

"Because it is what I deserve," Dimitri replied with conviction and flexed his fingers that had been tightly wound in a fist. Linhardt hummed at the answer and finally turned his head to address the prince.

"Perhaps, but I believe you are worth saving."

Dimitri flinched and let the growl that surfaced remain in his throat. "And what makes you the decider of who lives and who dies?"

"Nothing does, but do you not have an objective to succeed?" Linhardt asked and rose a brow when Dimitri finally gave Linhardt some physical acknowledgment. The prince was staring intimidatingly at him, trying to assess where to strike, to down him in one blow. "Edelgard's head will not fall off its shoulders by itself."

"Wha- how?" Dimitri's eye widened; his consuming thoughts of Linhardt's demise vanishing almost at once.

"Your thoughts are not so different from countless others. You may possess a stronger emotion to Edelgard's death, but the thoughts are all the same." Linhardt shrugged and curled his finger around his chin. "You and Claude fight for a brighter future, where you are not tied down by the ghosts of your past; and I know yours is heavy with them. You cannot let them dictate your movements from beyond the grave."

Dimitri's shoulders slumped as Linhardt chattered insentiently. The warlock could see the prince of Faerghus contemplating his words with a considerable amount of effort. Linhardt could see Dimitri fighting himself as if the ghosts were hounding him to dismiss his confrontations.

"It is much harder than you think." Dimitri finally spoke. He was exhausted and just wanted everything to simply but undeniably stop. Linhardt gave him a sympathetic smile and turned his attention back to the rubble.

"I cannot begin to understand what you are going through." Linhardt shook his head to ensure the prince that was not what he was implying. "But the Dimitri I was knew never backed down from a challenge. I do not see why he would now? Why would he bow down to death?"

They remained in a stifling silence, Linhardt wondering if he had gone too far. He tried not to show his nervousness and refrained himself from bouncing on the balls of his feet and flexing his shaking fingers. Linhardt hitched his breath when Dimitri spoke again, but felt himself relaxing at the quieter more thoughtful tone.

"I wish to speak to Claude."


	10. Fort Merceus

As soon as Dimitri's black glove clasped the offered dusty brown, Linhardt leaned peacefully against Byleth. Claude had the brightest grin on his face to date that Linhardt had seen since the war began, and inclined his head at the Faerghus prince in thanks. They had been conversing for hours after Linhardt fetched Claude who had been waiting patiently outside. The archer instantaneously regarded Linhardt in a brand new light after the warlock revealed that Dimitri wanted to speak with him. Claude had clapped him on the back which caused Linhardt to wheeze lightly at the impact. He wasn't able to protest the act as the Alliance leader strolled into the cathedral.

Linhardt decided to stay– mostly out of self-interest – following after Claude and settling down in one of the many chipped benches in the nave. He focused on Dimitri at first, the uneasiness and analytic eye trying to determine Claude's motives had Linhardt on edge. When the prince's eyes softened a fraction and Linhardt was certain Dimitri wasn't going to snap Claude like a twig, the warlock turned his attention to the archer. Linhardt could tell Claude was listening intently as Dimitri spoke, his eyes flittering over the Faerghus man's distinguished features. The warlock knew he was following the strategies and tactics he designed play out in front of him, adjusting it appropriately to fit Dimitri and his companions.

Claude curled his finger around his chin when he wished to disagree with whatever the prince requested, and to Linhardt's horrified surprise, he easily voiced it. Claude wasn't afraid of the prince, that much was clear; but the way Dimitri stiffened and clenched his hands at his side, clarified it wasn't often someone opposed him in speech, especially now that he was somewhat unstable. Claude didn't seem to notice, or most likely, chose not to acknowledge Dimitri's agitation.

Linhardt had fluttered his eyes closed more than once, only coming fully back to his senses when he felt a rush of warmth sit down beside him. He flickered his tired gaze to Byleth who smiled softly at him.

"It worked then?" He whispered not wanting to alert either the leaders to his presence. Linhardt furrowed his brow not wanting to ponder on whatever Byleth was insinuating with his question. His look gave off what he hoped was annoyance and the urge for the professor to clarify himself. "I spoke to Claude. It seems my specific words brought about this union of nations."

"By union, I do hope you mean sending in a mediator to ensure the so-called '_Boar_' would not tear apart what is left of the monastery before talking of negotiations," Linhardt said accusingly and turned his body from the professor to emphasise his disapproval. Byleth placed his hand on Linhardt's knee and squeezed it gently. The warmth was nice, that much the warlock could confidently confess, but he didn't allow it to deter him from staying nettled with him.

"I'm sorry, my love." Byleth tried to sway him with a pet name, Linhardt involuntarily shivered with want in response. The warlock glanced at the professor over his shoulder and hummed. "If I understand it correctly, Claude will be in your debt for doing this for him."

Linhardt considered that with little thought and turned back to face him. "You have a point there. Let him hope I do not call upon it." He smiled audaciously. Byleth shook his head in affection and they turned back to witness Dimitri and Claude shake hands.

Their small moment was taken when Claude called Byleth over. Linhardt sighed and nodded to his fiancée, closing his eyes momentarily as the man kissed his cheek before leaving. The warlock decided he was no longer needed and headed back to his room for a much-needed nap. He dipped in and out of his slumber, never really falling into a deep sleep. Linhardt's lower spine tingled at a loss of touch; gleaning that the warlock's body missed the flushed and stimulating form of Byleth against his own. The safety net of the professor's arms around his frame and the spark it enticed in the lower regions of his abdomen. He quickly willed away the frivolous imaginations before things got too heated and allowed his more diffident and most pressing thoughts to finally become his fixation as he gazed up at the dark ceiling.

They had come so far and were closing in on a finished war. A struggle filled and dashed with blood, death, and betrayal– everything Linhardt had wanted to avoid his entire life. He let out a shaky breath at his next undesirable muse. The Alliance and the Church's next target was the impregnable citadel of Fort Merceus. Claude had stood steadfast at Linhardt's small protests at the war council meeting. It was their best cause of action and the warlock was berated for his unnecessary wariness. It was all for selfish reasons, which Claude seemed to have suspected. Caspar was stationed at the fort; Linhardt had been told the news when the blue-haired man had last visited him under his house arrest. The warlock was vigilant during the whole meeting, though he and his best friend were on different sides of the conflict, he would not allow him to come to harm. Linhardt pinched his brow and sighed again.

* * *

Linhardt hadn't known he had drifted off with his thoughts until someone opened his door and walked inside. He blinked blearily and found Byleth pacing in front of him. His pose was stiff, brow creased with worry and his lips pulled into a thin line of tenseness.

"Byleth?" Linhardt sat up and rubbed his eyes. "What's happened?"

"We work with some stubborn mules." He muttered and slumped down on the bed. Linhardt shuffled forward and caressed the professor's jaw before turning Byleth's chin to face him.

"Am I to assume that Dimitri will no longer be working with us?" Linhardt asked and Byleth clenched his jaw in response. The warlock feathered his fingers over the man's forehead, down his nose, and across his lips.

"Everything was fine, we would be heading to Enbarr after we take Fort Merceus." Byleth spoke quietly through his fingers and gently pecked the ring upon Linhardt's finger that traced his bottom lip. "Then I recalled that Fhirdiad was still under Empire control and that perhaps Dimitri would insist on reclaiming his home."

"Claude did not like you messing with his schemes?" Linhardt asked and Byleth shook his head as if the warlock had it wrong and removed the hand from his lips.

"It was like Claude knew I would suggest it. He offered Dimitri his aid and he flared up in rage." Byleth informed Linhardt and exhaled profoundly as he played with the warlock's hand. "I feel as though Dimitri does not think himself worthy to lean on someone."

"Give him time." Linhardt intertwined their fingers before hauling Byleth on top of him. "He has been isolated for so long, it'll take a while before Dimitri can hold confidence in anyone again."

"At such a pinnacle point of this conflict," Byleth hung his head in defeat and Linhardt's heart pounced in his chest. He hated when the professor acted beaten, it was so unusual for the man who always stepped steadily into the fray and dealt with anything and everything that was thrown his way with a calm and calculated mind. Linhardt cupped his cheeks and pressed his lips to the corner of Byleth's mouth.

"Perhaps Dimitri will feel differently once we take Fort Merceus." Linhardt said as the professor rolled off the warlock and pressed his nose into Linhardt's hair.

"Will you be okay?" Byleth asked as he wrapped his arms around the warlock and breathed in his scent. Linhardt tickled the professor's arm with the delicate touch of his fingers as he realised what he was really asking him. Would he be okay, if push comes to shove, in killing his best friend?

"I will have to be."

Linhardt's response was filled with emptiness. His heart was hollow with his words and he suppressed the unsteady breath he wanted to impart with after his cold answer. Linhardt was taken by surprise when his whole body was forcefully turned to plaster against Byleth's. The hard look the professor gave him caused the warlock to gasp lightly.

"We will save him," Byleth promised and Linhardt clutched desperately at the professor's shirt. The warlock wanted to disregard the unwavering vow, as there was no way Byleth could ever truly assure him that Caspar would not fall to any harm. But he couldn't abandon the foolish notion that Byleth could make it a reality. To be able to lie in bed with the love of his life, and sit beside his childhood friend as if the war raging before his eyes was nothing but an insignificant thought.

Linhardt was unable to stop the grateful smile that graced his lips and turned compliant to Byleth's advances as the man leaned forward to kiss him.

* * *

The final war council was met with great controversy with Claude attempting to defend his strategy. Byleth had endeavoured to lighten the situation with a joke that left the room in shaken silence. Raphael had been the only one to laugh after a moment as he caught on what Byleth was suggesting, and the image he mustered up couldn't contain his amusement. The professor seemed pleased with himself and Linhardt patted his arm in support.

"As much as I'd love to see Claude dressed as the Adrestian Empress," Sylvain let Raphael's contagious enjoyment bring a smile to his face at the thought. "I don't think he could pull it off."

Claude placed his hands on his hips and clenched his jaw. After Felix made a distasteful comment, Hilda mused that the swordsman could join Claude's side as the Empress's advisor. The Alliance leader swiftly lost the room's attention as they sniped and joked about the idea. It didn't last too long however when Dimitri slammed his fist against the table and caused everyone to jolt to attention. Claude offered the Faerghus prince a nod of appreciation before he continued to explain the tactics to ensure them victory.

They set out the next day, the inevitable weight that was dancing around Linhardt's heart finally settled heavily against it. As they passed through Gronder Field, the warlock distracted himself by listening to Annette and Hilda's prattling. It only abetted to keeping his bleak thoughts at bay until Fort Merceus came into view. Linhardt faltered and tensed, flexing his now clammy hands, taking deep breaths as he tried not to stumble back and return to Garreg Mach with his tail between his legs. Linhardt stiffened as a hand dropped onto his shoulder and glanced to his side to see Ferdinand smiling down at him. Bernadetta peeked her head around the paladin and gave him a frightful attempt of a comforting smile.

"If he is still stationed here, we will protect him," Ferdinand spoke and Linhardt inhaled the confident words like a starved mad man and allowed the paladin to yield part of his unwavering courage to him.

"We're in this together, right?" Bernadetta squeaked out and Linhardt inclined his head down. He had forgotten he wasn't the only Adrestian descendant among their ranks anymore. Ferdinand and Bernadetta were just as worried about what would happen to Caspar as the warlock was. Linhardt smiled and rose his gaze back to the fort with a lightened outlook.

"Yes, together." He replied.

Though Claude had still been doubted with his design to infiltrate Fort Merceus in disguise as Empire soldiers they entered with little trouble. But once they were inside, it became more difficult to avoid certain higher rankers that would easily see through their camouflage. It had started with a cry of alarm– 'His Highness Prince Dimitri of Faerghus!'– from an enemy soldier before the bells of Fort Merceus vibrated and sung to inform its inhabitants of intruders.

Linhardt along with everyone else shrugged off the fake armour before they implemented Claude's ploy of attack. The warlock ran into the fray behind Byleth and Claude, an eye always searching for his blue-haired friend. Linhardt had broken away from the professor and archer to come to Ingrid and Ignatz's aid as they tried to break the fortress knights' defensive line. His fire magic smashed into the knights and obliterated whatever resistance blocked his comrades from the enemy inside.

He heard the emotional murderous bellow calling for Claude's head, the loud and familiar expressive voice sent a shudder down Linhardt's spine. He left his current company without a word to run towards the commotion. The pure vengeful yells spurred the warlock on, hoping he wouldn't be too late. He passed Annette and her father who, with great strength, pushed away his opponent with his shield and sliced at the solider. The man called to him and the warlock simply ignored his naturally pressing tone and continued on his path. As he neared the uproar the voices became clearer and Linhardt tripped on his robes. He fell forward onto his hands and knees and scraped his palms on the rough stones.

"Caspar!" He barked to himself and swiftly got back to his feet. He rounded the corner and came face to face with Claude on his back, bow acting as a barrier blocking against the axe that was mere inches away from his face. His face was bruised and bleeding, sliver gauntlets splattered with the Alliance leader's blood laid unheeded by Linhardt's feet. Claude's battalion was scattered around, fighting their opponents. When the warlock saw Caspar's enraged features he scrambled forward, only to topple back onto the ground in his urgency. He snapped his head up as Claude grunted in tiring exertion and Caspar started to grin maliciously as he felt the archer's biceps waver. "Caspar! No!"

The blue-haired man's bloodthirsty instincts shattered almost immediately at the protesting voice and Caspar shakily turned to look at Linhardt who held out his hand from where he lay on the ground.

"L-Linhardt?" The brawler choked and pushed himself away from the exhausted archer. He ran to the warlock's side and helped him to his feet before bringing him into a crushing hug. Linhardt wrapped his arms around Caspar's neck and erratically sighed in relief. He gazed over at Claude who weakly smiled at him in thanks, arms splayed open, wincing as he tried to move. Linhardt buried his face in Caspar's shoulder and smiled slightly as the brawler started crying.

"I'm here," Linhardt whispered to his friend and ran his fingers through his hair in comfort. Rushed footsteps began to gather, exclamations of Claude's name had Linhardt lifting his head. It seemed the battle had been won with minimal causalities, but the panicked looks on the other's faces had the warlock concerned.

"We need to leave, now!" Byleth appeared next to him and Caspar, and the blue-haired man pulled away. He insentiently wiped his eyes and sniffled back his emotional state.

"W-why? What's going on?" The brawler asked. It seemed that an answer would have to wait as Byleth grabbed Linhardt's hand and pulled him away frantically. A loud explosion sounded from above and the warlock let his gaze lift towards the sky to see some kind of pillared light falling towards them. The others were all hot on their heels, Linhardt looking back to see Dedue carrying the now limp and unconscious Claude in his arms.

They managed to clear the brunt of the detonation that annihilated the fort into ruined rubble. The widespread and powerful wave of debris and dust collided with the retreating armed forces, and they were thrown off their feet and pressed into the grassy plains they were running through. Linhardt covered his head and closed his eyes as he felt a body cover his in protection. Once the winds had calmed down, they began to regain their senses. Linhardt accepted Byleth's help and stayed close to him as they all turned to see what had transpired.

"What was that?" Leonie voiced what they had all been thinking. Linhardt glandered at the man beside him and noticed the clueless look on his face.

"We best make our way back to Garreg Mach," Byleth announced, his voice tight and commanding. They all nodded in agreement and Linhardt furrowed his brow and curled his finger around his chin in thought.


	11. The confidants of Adrestian and Faerghus

Linhardt pressed tentative hands against the dark looming doors of Hubert's monastery dorm room. He pushed them slowly open, eye twitching once as the damaged hinges squeaked in protest. To Linhardt's despair, the room was disturbingly bare. Hubert's bed was expertly made; a final act of respect for the hospitality the monastery provided for the imperial advisor. His inkpot and quill sat inertly with disuse in the dusty stillness upon the neatly packed away desk. The single flower Byleth had offered to him for his birthday all those years ago, that had once bloomed with pride, was now drooping lifelessly in its clear vase.

The large pillar of light that had decimated Fort Merceus chimed at a piece of forgotten memory in Linhardt's mind as they marched back to the monastery. He recalled he had been sleeping peacefully, after another well-spent session in the library, at his desk in the Black Eagle classroom. He had somehow inelegantly slipped from his warmed seat and ended up under his desk with his cheek pressing harshly against the cold floorboards. Hubert had entered and settled, totally unaware of the snoozing– then priest– and nosily began to study. That was what Linhardt thought he had been doing when he was rudely awoken by Hubert's incessant mumbling and precise, but consistent scratches of his quill. Linhardt had been about to make himself known but was startled into remaining silent when Hubert sharply rose and left the room with deeper lines to his forehead than Linhardt was used to seeing. His books were still laid out for anyone with wandering eyes to see; signifying that Hubert would be returning shortly. Linhardt took his chance that the advisor unknowingly rewarded him, and allowed his curiosity to drag him out from under the well-kept desk and investigate what the imperial advisor was researching. Hubert's journal depicted variations of complex formulas, drawings of strange sky pillars, and cryptic notes. If Linhardt had known or had more time, even perhaps borrowed the journal, he would have been able to give Byleth a more useful answer down the track many years later. To think he had stumbled upon something that turned out to be vitally important in the tides of war caused the warlock to droop in mental exhaustion.

Linhardt paced towards the closed window and wrapped his grip around the depressing vase and sighed. He didn't know what he was expecting, it wasn't as if Hubert was going to leave such information laying around for his enemies to find. The imperial advisor had no doubt packed his belongings weeks before Edelgard declared herself empress. The two had been distressingly prepared and ready to fight the largest organisation in all history. Hesitation, non-existent, as they rose their axe and magic against those, they had spent intimate time with.

Linhardt removed himself from the gloomy room and let his feet take him to the pond. He crouched at the water's edge and delicately placed the dead flower on the surface. He watched it float there for a while as its sepal contemplated whether it wished to continue floating for life, or give up, and submerge its petals to lay at the bottom of the pond before his airy attention was pulled away.

Caspar was waving from the top of the dining hall stairs, a bright smile that lifted anyone's spirits in an instant. He dropped his hand and jogged down the stairway, jumping from the bottom fourth step to land expertly in front of the approaching Linhardt. Caspar grabbed his friend's arm and motioned to the surroundings with his free limb.

"This brings back so many memories." Caspar pointed over to the corner of the staircase. "I fought a kid so much taller than me there."

"I recall," Linhardt replied with little emotion and the armoured man chuckled. "I do believe you lost. If my memory serves me correctly, you blundered most of your challenges."

"Hey." Caspar furrowed his brow, his amusement gone and started to kick at the loosened stone of the path sheepishly. "They were crucial learning experiences."

Linhardt hummed incredulously at his friend's justification and removed Caspar's hold on his arm. They shared an acquainted smile before they fell side by side, and strolled up through the dining hall and into the small gardens that divided the monastery into its two core parts.

"So, what's happened with you since you left?" Caspar asked with a small roust of betrayal that laced the imperial brawler's voice despite him trying to mask it with interest. Linhardt glanced at the band of metal on his left hand and swiftly concealed it behind his back.

"Not much," Linhardt answered and focused his gaze away from Caspar. "I've been helping Claude and the Professor with their pursuits for this war."

"Against Edelgard." The imperial brawler commented quietly, and let out a shaky breath. "I've spoken to Ferdinand and Bernie. You know I never wanted all this."

"I know, Caspar." Linhardt turned back to his friend. "I'm sure Claude knows that too. Have you spoken to him yet?"

"Yes, he accepted my apology and asked me to join his ranks," Caspar told the warlock with a quip of his lips that informed Linhardt that the imperial brawler welcomed the request with open arms. "He also asked me to find you and he wants you to meet him in Seteth's office."

* * *

After Linhardt discovered Claude had asked Caspar to fetch him several hours ago, and he scolded his friend for his lack of punctuality, the warlock shuffled away to Seteth's office. He knocked once, leaving a brief arrest before allowing himself inside. Claude lifted his head from the book he had been reading and the warlock opened his mouth.

"Should you really be up and about? You look frightfully pale."

The only colour the alliance leader held to his face was the painful-looking black and blue bruise that engulfed his eye and half his face. The raw red gashes that littered his arms and no doubt the rest of his body had Linhardt kneeling beside him and silently offering his aid.

"I'm just fine, Linhardt." Claude insisted but allowed the warlock to take his wrist and heal the laceration that protested every time he moved to turn a page. Linhardt didn't ask why Claude had decided the floor was a more comfortable spot than the empty desk chair; bearing in mind the warlock tended to find himself curled around a book, stretching out on the floor, whether it was the trimmed grass of the gardens or the cold stone of the cathedral's steps.

"There was something you wanted to discuss with me?" Linhardt inquired as he withdrew and moved away from Claude. The archer closed the book he was reading and nodded.

"I was hoping you might have some information regarding the pillars of destructive light." Claude motioned with his hand for Linhardt to take a seat. The warlock was amused at the improper council chambers and settled himself down, crossed legged in front of Claude. "Is there anything at all you might know?"

"I honestly can't say I do know anything. But, when we were at school, Hubert had a notebook that was filled with notes and pictures." Linhardt informed the alliance leader and carried on when Claude leaned forward in sole interest. "I merely skimmed what had been written, but I believe, even Hubert at the time, didn't know what they were."

"You believe he does now?" Claude asked and Linhardt nodded in answer. "Do you think he fears it?"

Linhardt considered the question for a moment. Hubert wasn't one to be frightened easily. He was incredibly intelligent, extremely well prepared and always a step ahead of everyone else. The imperial advisor's absence of empathy made him a vicious opponent, causing those who opposed him to second guess themselves. Would Hubert von Vestra be afraid of a weapon from the sky that could obliterate a fortified base within seconds?

"No, not fear." Linhardt finally answered and grabbed a stray book from the ground, opening it to its contents page. "He wished to understand it. Hubert wants to be able to take it apart piece by piece, but be able to put it back together if the need arises. If Hubert can't establish some kind of control of whatever it is, and it affects Edelgard in some regard, then he'll put all his effort and energy in understanding how to use it in her favour."

"So, you're saying that Edelgard wasn't behind the attack at Fort Merceus," Claude said and tried to adjust to the statement like a bad taste to his mouth.

"Edelgard would not be so foolish to destroy such a monumental part of her defence," Linhardt replied and yawned quietly. He rubbed his eyes with his sleeve and looked over at Claude who was smiling at him. "What?"

"Who do you think ordered the attack?" Claude asked curiously. Linhardt shrugged and gazed back down at the book in his lap.

"Whoever it was, Hubert doesn't trust them."

* * *

A couple of hours later a knock echoed through the room. Claude called for them to enter, both inhabitants pleased to find Dedue and Dimitri, instead of an outraged Seteth who would come to find his office evolving into a nest of books. Dedue was carrying a tray, what was upon it had Linhardt's attention. Two steaming bowls of delicious smelling food wafted through the room, causing the warlock's stomach to grumble.

"We thought the two of you might be hungry," Dedue announced and leaned down to offer them the food. Claude eagerly took one and hummed in pure satisfaction as he ate a spoonful. Linhardt stood, thanking the armoured knight quietly as he moved away from the copious piles of literature to eat.

"Do you need any help?" Dimitri asked them and picked a random book from a large mass that sat to Claude's left.

"I guess we could use an extra pair and a half eyes," Claude smirked at the Faerghus prince who clenched his jaw and sighed at the archer.

"Very funny, Claude." Dimitri exchanged the offered book from Claude with the one he had picked up and relocated himself to Seteth's office chair. Dedue took his spot on the opposite side of the room and deemed it a tolerable detachment from the others.

Linhardt didn't know too much about the man of Duscur. He seemed pleasant enough, polite to a disquieting degree. Dedue kept to himself mostly, unless he was in Dimitri's company or cornered by particular classmates for a casual chat. He was more comfortable alone than being swallowed as part of a crowd, and that, Linhardt could easily sympathise with. The warlock finished his food and placed it back onto the tray by the door. He retrieved the book he had been perusing and settled himself next to the broad dark-skinned man. Linhardt ignored the discreet shuffle Dedue tried to get away with to ensure an adequate distance of space between them. The books that surrounded them made it harder for Dedue to escape the warlock's enclosing company. Linhardt placed his finger on the word he finished the next paragraph with and turned his gaze up to the armoured knight when he cleared his throat.

"I'd advise against sitting with me," Dedue told him with a pleading tone. "I don't wish to lower you to that of a man of Duscur."

Linhardt rose a single brow at the seriousness of Dedue's tone. He had heard from a few people how wholly Dedue was against anyone conversing with him. Linhardt turned his gaze back to the words on the page and hummed nonchalantly in reply.

"A man's place of birth does not define what type of man he will become," Linhardt commented. "I enjoy your company Dedue, if I must lower my non-existent position to spend time with a man of your kind-hearted status, then I will gladly do so."

When he didn't receive a response or a wrestled movement of escape, Linhardt continued reading with a small victorious smile. It was quiet for some time only being interrupted by the fluttering of pages being turned and sighs of disappointment slicing through the silence. The warlock, despite being utterly absorbed in the book he was reading, felt his eyes close more than once with weariness.

"Thank you." Dedue's low deep appreciative voice woke Linhardt with a start. The warlock snapped his head up and blinked the armoured knight into focus. The man wore the simplest, yet most heartening smile Linhardt had ever seen. Linhardt was unable to reply as Claude exclaimed in success and jumped to his feet with a blinding grin.

"I found something!" Claude told them and turned the book around for them to see. "Oh, Seteth! You beautiful man!"

Claude's cry had coincided with the office door opening, revealing the man that they had hoped wouldn't return for a few more hours. Seteth stood there with a look of horrified shock and anger at the state of his office and those that had invaded his space.

"I'm what?" He asked as he folded his arms and gave all four of them his signature glare. Linhardt sighed quietly and prepared himself for the scolding that was inevitably coming.


	12. Left behind for Fhirdiad

Claude had been dismissed back to the infirmary after Seteth's reprimand was blissfully interrupted by Byleth's arrival. The professor had no doubt been alerted by a passing guard of the raised voices within the Archbishop's second-in-command's office and deemed the abnormality worth investigating. His knock had been drowned by the argument inside and Linhardt rose a brow in question when Seteth suddenly ceased his fluent dialogue. The accused- after having stood at attention for the past ten minutes- looked over their shoulders to find Byleth comprehending the state of Seteth's space.

"Teach." Claude beamed and winced slightly at the pull of the abrasions on his cheeks. Linhardt didn't miss the master tactician slip the book- he had excitedly informed them about not long ago- beneath his sash after Byleth glanced over him, twisting his concern look into an angered glare as he turned his attention to Seteth.

"What is going on here?" Byleth asked and approached. Dedue and Dimitri shuffled lightly to the side to allow the professor to stand before them at Seteth's side. Linhardt sighed quietly and folded his arms as the arguing swiftly started up again, with the professor's added vocals. It wasn't long before Claude took a step forward to try to ease the squabble as Dimitri began to tense, and Dedue attempted to soothe his monarch's mind. The Alliance leader stumbled over a small stack of discarded books and inhaled sharply as he fell to his knees. The arguing ceased once more as Linhardt moved around the Faerghus men and crouched by Claude's side.

"Perhaps before we descend back into this circling dispute, Claude may be dismissed to recover from the injuries he obtained?" Linhardt glared at them all and helped the archer return to his feet. Byleth and Seteth shared an equally guilty gaze before apologising for their appalling conduct.

"Would you take him back to the infirmary?" Byleth asked Linhardt and placed his hand on the warlock's lower back. Linhardt nodded and smiled softly at the professor before guiding Claude out the door. As they neared the infirmary, the warlock noticed the archer was smirking at him weakly.

"If you think no one saw you swindle that book at your waist, then you are sorely mistaken," Linhardt said and narrowed his brow slightly when Claude's look of glee didn't falter.

"Oh, that?" Claude scrunched his face up in indifference. "As long as Seteth didn't see me thieving from his collection, then we're soaring."

Linhardt didn't reply and allowed the alliance leader to untangle from him and set himself back onto the infirmary bed. Once Claude deemed himself comfortable and fished the forbidden literature from under his sash, Linhardt moved towards him and sat by his side.

"You never allowed Professor Manuela to heal your wounds, did you?" Linhardt pressed his fingers to the small laceration on the archer's forehead. Claude flinched slightly but didn't move away from the warlock's touch. Linhardt managed to reach the man's neck before his wrist was sharply seized. Linhardt slowly pulled his hand away from Claude's warm grip and found himself lured by the archer's gaze.

"I know you feel responsible for what happened to me-" Claude started, and Linhardt hitched his breath at the accusation. "-But, please do not baby me. The wounds will heal, there is no need to waste your magic."

"Waste?" Linhardt blinked in surprise. To think a leader, an appointed monarch, would deem himself undeserving of his subjects' help.

"Marianne has already healed the worst of my injuries- at her insistence," Claude assured him and turned his attention back to the book in his lap. "I don't blame you for what Caspar did."

"I-" Linhardt started before he averted his gaze and sighed. He supposed a rather significant part of him deemed him responsible for Caspar's actions at Fort Merceus. The sense of guilt laid on his heart as he gazed at another bruise on Claude's jaw. "-His actions were driven by the lies of my demise. I should have warned you beforehand of Caspar's emotional drive."

Claude looked back up and waved him off. "What's done is done. I know Caspar is motivated by his emotions. I knew he would be looking for me."

"Then why did you not take extra precaution? Why not allow me to accompany you on the battlefield?" Linhardt asked him in a startled daze.

"Our tactic demanded your presence elsewhere," Claude answered before he smiled at the warlock. "Besides, it made your reunion all the more significant."

"Not almost being beaten to death would not have decreased any value of our reunion, or the troubling, unrefuted fact Edelgard lied to her most trusted commanders," Linhardt stated matter-of-factly and sighed as Claude smiled brighter.

They were interrupted by a knock on the door, and Linhardt rose from the bed as Byleth appeared. He came to the warlock's side and nodded at Claude in greeting and apology.

"May I borrow Linhardt?" He asked and Claude nodded eagerly and waved them off.

"Please do, he is insistent on being logical." He teased the warlock, who huffed and folded his arms. Claude winked and laughed cheerfully as they began to leave. "Oh, congratulations by the way, on the engagement. I happened to hear that I am very much, best man material."

Byleth thanked the archer with an amused look of pleasure and Linhardt pulled Byleth out of the room. They passed by Seteth's office to find a few attendants tidying up, scooping up the discarded literature and replacing them precisely- as if they had never been moved at all. The warlock felt a prick of responsibility stab his chest; though it didn't last long with the thought of him being chosen to tidy up the mess they had left behind. As they walked down the stairway to the ground floor, Byleth grasped Linhardt's hand and intertwined their fingers.

"How did Claude find out we are to be wed?" The warlock gave his professor a condemning look. Byleth squeezed his hand sheepishly and pulled him closer to swiftly peck his lips.

"I may have told him," Byleth answered and knitted his brow together as Linhardt bit his lip in apprehension. "I'm sorry, Linhardt. He figured it out and kept pestering me until I told him myself."

"I haven't told Caspar." The warlock informed him and saddened at the thought of keeping it from his best friend.

"But, why not?" The professor asked and caressed his cheek with a warm smile. "I don't mind if he knows."

Linhardt had kept it from Caspar largely due to the fact, that the brawler had been immersed in a cloud of depression and hateful revenge during the time that, Linhardt was surrounded by friends and faithful courtship. It would have been both emotionally and mentally difficult for Caspar- let alone anybody- to come to terms with the lies he had been told, and truths that had been unexpectedly uncovered.

"I did not want to flaunt my chance at happiness after what Caspar has been through," Linhardt confessed to Byleth. "I worry about his reaction to our union after spending all this time thinking I was dead."

"Understandable," Byleth assured the warlock with a brief quip of his lips. "Though, as your best friend, I believe he would not react negatively."

"Perhaps." Linhardt hummed before he covered a yawn with his hand. "All this commotion has made me awfully drowsy. I might-"

"-Oh, no." Byleth tugged at his hand and wrapped his arms around the warlock's waist. "I pulled you out of the infirmary for a reason."

Linhardt whined lightly in protest but didn't decline the professor's warming touch.

"Dimitri and the Blue Lions are deploying to the capital of Faerghus. They have asked me to join them." Byleth informed Linhardt. The warlock grasped the professor's arm in alarm and searched the man's face for the jest that he was surely springing upon him.

"You're leaving? That cannot be so." Linhardt stated when he found no façade to a joke and shook his head. "With Claude out of commission, you are needed here."

"Nonsense, I do not need to be here. You have all forged a firm bond, you will be fine." Byleth removed one of his hands from Linhardt's waist and covered the hand on his arm. "And I am certain Lorenz will take command should something untoward should occur."

"He would be all too happy to do so." Linhardt eased his creasing features and frowned in longing. "I shall miss you."

"We will send word as we approach the capital, and once it is safe to join us," Byleth assured him with a gentle squeeze to both his hand and waist. "If we succeed, we will be able to force any remaining empire forces back to Enbarr."

"Please be careful. Dimitri may insist in his reckless bout of frenzied rage, but I must insist you stay back and not follow him to his untimely death." Linhardt ordered him; his serious glare told Byleth to agree or not bother returning to their bed.

"I shall keep on guard and assure I am back to warm your sheets." The professor promised him.

They shared a tender and devoted kiss, neither wishing to part for a mission as dangerous as this. Byleth regrettably pulled away and offered Linhardt a formal bow before leaving the warlock standing there in a daze.

Linhardt refused to let himself succumb to his persistent exhaustion; if Byleth was intent on being away and fighting, then Linhardt would do the best he could at the monastery. He taught a seminar for those who searched for practiced faith knowledge and attended others. The warlock managed to coax Ignatz from his exquisite paintings to improve his mediocre sword arm. Linhardt carefully planned it in tandem with Caspar's own bouts of brawling training with Raphael. Each time Linhardt insisted with himself that he would pull Caspar to the side and allow himself the indulgence of sharing his news with his childhood friend. Yet somehow, he would always pause. After they passed pleasantries, Linhardt seized up, and his words would catch in his throat. Caspar never seemed to notice the warlock's hesitation and took rein of the conversation.

* * *

Word from His Royal Majesty King Dimitri fell into Claude's lap a few days later. The archer had left his bed- despite Manuela's insistence on remaining- to gather his classmates and tell them the good news. Linhardt was comforted to hear they were all well- aside from a few minor injuries. They would be returning within a day of the letter's arrival and were more than ready to aid Claude on his march to Enbarr's doors.

"They had the coronation without us?" Hilda pouted and swiped at her skirt. "I was looking forward to dressing up."

"Dimitri says they'll be having a proper gallant coronation when this war is over." Claude continued to read the letter. "Looks like we're all invited. You guys included." He looked over at the former Black Eagles. Caspar grinned and nudged Bernadetta, who squeaked lightly and hid behind Ferdinand.

"Were there any sightings of Rhea?" Seteth asked in waning hope. Claude shook his head in apology. "Then we best head to Enbarr as soon as possible."

They all nodded in unison and were dismissed moments later. Linhardt watched as the Alliance leader offered Seteth the letter and patted his hand in reassurance. The warlock rose a brow in surprise. He had never really seen Claude and Seteth interact before, but this was not what he expected. Claude was not a religious man, he had mentioned so, on many occasions. He questioned Rhea's guidance regularly, and the impact the goddess had on their internal affairs. Linhardt could scarcely believe the archer actually interacted with a man of such high religious status, like Seteth, at all. The man was a clear and deep believer in the goddess and those that worked with her. The two were complete opposites, no doubt when they crossed paths, they clashed horn with antler. To see a small considerate smile on Claude's lips as he gazed at Seteth, and the gentle touch between them caused Linhardt to stare.

The warlock supposed Seteth was in need of support and encouragement. With his strong mentality, it wasn't often the man couldn't handle anything that was thrown his way. Rhea depended on him greatly and Seteth was simply grateful to be at her side. When the war began and the archbishop was snatched from the advisor's grasp, Linhardt suspected Seteth spiralled. He had heard the advisor searched relentlessly for Rhea during the five years Byleth had been missing. Each time Seteth returned without the archbishop by his side no doubt picked and shattered pieces of his heart.

Claude could see Seteth was reaching for normalcy, needed the comfort that not only the church, but the Leicester Alliance were doing everything in their growing power to find the missing archbishop. Linhardt knew that Claude was trying to assure Seteth, that though he may not believe in the same gods, he would not allow Rhea to suffer. It was inspiring to know that the alliance leader put his aspirations to one side briefly, and indulge those in need of assuaging and company.

Linhardt turned away with a pensive look and headed to the pond to leisurely fish and await his beloved's return.


	13. Decision to Relinquish

Linhardt was roused awake with a gentle shake to his arm. He fluttered his eyes open as a soft affectionate tone whispered his name. A smile graced his lips when he saw Byleth attempting to pull him to his feet. A beat of contentment flashed in his expression at the act of normalcy. He must have fallen asleep by the pond while he waited for the professor and the Blue Lion's to return. When Byleth said his name again, Linhardt levelled out the weight on his feet before wrapping his arms around the professor's neck.

"Byleth." He greeted drowsily, still trying to shake off the tiredness. Linhardt leaned forward and kissed Byleth, humming in satisfaction at the feel of the professor's arms tightening around his back. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." Byleth licked his lips while Linhardt shivered at the action, watching the man savour his taste. Linhardt noticed a small cut on the professor's cheekbone and he narrowed his eyes. He lifted his hand and feathered his fingers over it and muttered beneath his breath. The small, but seemingly deep gash, knitted itself beneath his touch and Byleth closed his eyes at the sensation. When Linhardt was done he grasped Byleth's chin between his curled index finger and thumb and waited for the man to look at him once more.

"Are there any other wounds that need my attention?" Linhardt asked with a chided bite to his words but was unable to stop his other hand trailing down the man's chest, all but diminishing his reprimanding stance. Byleth quipped the left side of lips into a teasing smirk and moved his upper body forward until Linhardt was forced to drop his hand from the professor's chin. The warlock gulped and let out a small gasp as Byleth nosed at his neck and pressed a tormenting and rather tempting kiss to the underside to his jaw.

"There might be." He whispered into the warlock's ear and Linhardt clawed at Byleth's shoulders in exhilarating anticipation. "Would you like to find out?"

Linhardt let out a breathy and uncontrolled hum of delight. They were both too beguiled in one other that they didn't hear the encroaching footsteps from afar or the exclamation that made Linhardt's blood run cold. The warlock snapped his head to see Caspar and Raphael aghast in shock. Byleth kept his hand around Linhardt's waist as he turned to address them.

"What's going on here?" Caspar demanded and pointed between them accusingly. He managed to catch Linhardt's terrified gaze before the warlock could look away.

"Caspar, I-" Linhardt started and closed his mouth, his practiced words vanishing in an instant. He prayed the blue-haired brawler wouldn't misunderstand the situation between him and Byleth. It was a common occurrence for Caspar to see the worst in every circumstance involving Linhardt and his rather airy attitude. It was always the case in their school years, like when Linhardt was leisurely eating his lunch and had an intense but friendly debate with Felix. It had turned into a proposition of a fight from the interfering Caspar to defend Linhardt's honour. Thankfully, the swordsman had simply scoffed at the brawler's confrontation and announced he was bored and headed off to the training arena without so much as a glance at Caspar. Caspar had continuously antagonised Claude and his motives towards sitting with the warlock when they studied in the library. Even Lorenz had once been affronted by the brawler after he had asked a simple, non-threatening question. Linhardt had been more than willing to answer but had been interrupted by his protective best friend. It was Caspar's nature to see the non-existent manipulation in everyone's actions- it was both endearing and bothersome at times.

In this particular case, it was vital Caspar didn't accuse Byleth of anything that could evoke some dangerous repercussions.

"I was simply greeting my fiancée after I'd been away for a substantial period of time." Byleth filled in while the warlock was still monologuing internally. Linhardt felt the hand on his waist squeeze rather shakily and the warlock ripped his gaze from Caspar and looked at Byleth. The professor's demeanour was nonchalant to those around him, but the warlock didn't miss his Adam's apple bob as Byleth gulped in uncertainty. Linhardt clasped at the hand that tightened against his waist. "I missed him, is that a crime?" He asked Caspar with a challenging glare and Linhardt swiftly turned to see the blue-haired brawler's reaction.

Caspar blinked in surprise and cleared his throat. "N-no, Professor." He swiftly said and blushed in embarrassment. Linhardt felt Byleth's hold lightened slightly and the warlock discreetly ran his fingers across the back of his hand to his wrist in a comforting manner. Linhardt jolted slightly when he felt Byleth's lips on his cheek and he covered his immediate surprise with a smile.

"There, we told him," Byleth stated with a small bout of relief in his voice that it hadn't gone worse and a nod of self-approval. Linhardt rose a brow and glanced over at Caspar who was still processing the stationary hand on the warlock's hip.

"I did not intend to reveal our relationship after being caught doing rather inappropriate things in public." Linhardt scolded Byleth and gave both Caspar and Raphael an apologetic frown. "I hope you can forgive our poor discretion. It will not happen again."

Raphael was blushing intensely but waved them off with a genuine smile to see them both happy. Linhardt thanked him and Byleth was watching Caspar cautiously knowing how much his opinion meant to Linhardt. The blue-haired brawler flexed his fingers and pointed over his shoulder.

"Could I talk to Linhardt for a minute?" He asked and the warlock immediately nodded. He removed Byleth's hand from his body and fluttered his eyelids as the professor feathered kisses over his knuckles before allowing Linhardt to approach the retreating Caspar.

Linhardt stood in front of his friend hesitant to speak as Caspar looked over his form. The warlock involuntarily adjusted his sleeves and jacket, hoping his moment with Byleth didn't crinkle his clothes. Caspar continued to stare at him before the brawler opened his mouth and let out everything he was suppressing for his languid friend.

"Why didn't you tell me about the professor?!" Caspar started and grabbed Linhardt's arms and shook him. "You've had a crush on him since, forever! I can't believe you kept this from me!"

Linhardt's eyes widened in disbelief before he suddenly found his hand being seized and forcefully pulled up. Caspar analysed the ring on Linhardt's finger and beamed happily. He continued to ramble and Linhardt was struggling to keep up. It was simply a relief that Caspar's reaction wasn't negative and though the warlock was usually unmoved and unaffected with people views on his life, to know that his best friend approved of Byleth, as not only a teacher but as someone who Linhardt could see spending the rest of his life with, caused the warlock to smile.

"I'm so happy for you both." Caspar had calmed down considerably and gave the professor a thumbs up and a cheeky grin. The brawler then hid his mouth from both Byleth and Raphael and started to whisper. "I thought he was forcing you- I would have-" He made a punching motion and Linhardt blinked several times.

"Caspar…" Linhardt sighed at him and pulled his hand away. "You know the professor would never do that."

"I know, I know." Caspar rocked on the balls of his feet and scratched his chin. "I just thought the worse when I saw the two of you. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Caspar," Linhardt assured him and gazed over his shoulder at Byleth, who was conversing with Raphael as he waited patiently for them.

"Are you happy?" Caspar asked sincerely, and Linhardt nodded.

"Yes, very much so." He replied. Caspar wrapped his arm around the warlock's shoulders and guided him over to Raphael and Byleth.

"The feast is about to start," Caspar announced and yanked Linhardt up the stairs to the dining hall. "Come on, Professor!"

Byleth let out a small sigh and folded his arms. Raphael chuckled and took a step towards the bottom steps. He turned back to the professor and shrugged.

"I don't think he quite grasps that you wanted to be alone with Linhardt." Raphael scratched the back of his neck before he grinned. "Though he is right when it comes to the food. You've been gone for a while; a good meal is exactly what you need."

Byleth dropped his arms in defeat and joined Raphael as he began his ascent. "I suppose you're right." He said and shared a brief smile with the Golden Deer brawler.

* * *

The feast was momentous, to say the least. With the new King of Faerghus at the head of the banquet and the Alliance Leader beside him, Dimitri offered a moving toast that had everyone cheering in hope and excitement. The food was extraordinarily delicious, even Linhardt had more than his fair share and had yet to fall asleep on Byleth's shoulder. It was wonderful to see such high morale among the troops, and even the ever-straight-faced Blue Lion swordsman was cracking a smile. As the feast began to claim the drunkards and others having talked and laughed to exhaustion, only a few remained in the dining hall. Linhardt had remained with Byleth, leaning heavily against him, waiting patiently for the professor's conversation with Gilbert to come to a conclusion. A guard apologetically interrupted their conversation and informed Byleth that Claude and Dimitri wished to speak with him about something of a delicate nature. Linhardt creased his brow and looked over at the retreating monarch figures.

"What do they want?" Linhardt asked Byleth with a bone-cracking yawn.

"I'm not sure." The professor confessed in curiosity and stood, bowing to Gilbert. "We must continue this another time."

"Absolutely." Gilbert nodded in agreement and rose also. "I pray His Majesty doesn't keep you up for much longer."

Byleth smiled before he turned and helped Linhardt to his feet. "Would you like to come with me?"

Linhardt nodded. "Though I'm not sure Dimitri and Claude will appreciate my presence."

"They do not have a choice." Byleth kissed him gently and cupped his cheek. "You are my future husband; I would like your input on every council meeting."

Linhardt leaned into Byleth's touch and smiled tiredly. They headed to the war council room, greeting Dedue who stood guard outside. As they entered, they were surprised to find that Lorenz and Ferdinand were also present alongside Dimitri, Claude, and Seteth. Linhardt gave his fellow Adrestian a questioning gaze, to which he received a minute shrug in return.

"Good of you to join us, Teach." Claude motioned to the nearest seat to him. "Why don't we all take a seat?"

"Whatever is this about?" Lorenz asked Claude with impatience as soon as he sat down. Claude huffed in amusement and laid his chin in his palm.

"We can't just have a pleasant conversation?" He asked the dark paladin who flicked his hair in irritation and folded his arms.

"Claude," Dimitri warned and the Alliance Leader clenched his jaw and sighed in defeat. He dropped his hand to the table and took a deep breath.

"Fine, fine," Claude said and cleared his throat. "I have decided to relinquish the Alliance territory to Faerghus."

Lorenz gaped at Claude in silent shock, clearly unprepared and unable to protest over the shocking news. Linhardt shook his head in confusion and Byleth tilted his head.

"And why, may I ask, would you do that?" Seteth asked what they all wished to know.

"The Alliance had been part of the Kingdom for a long time before they got their independence." Claude started and tried to explain himself to them, but wanted it to be exceptionally clear for Lorenz. "We are looking and fighting for a united Fódlan. That will never be accomplished if we are all still separated by borders, no matter who's in charge."

"And what will you be doing once the war is over?" Linhardt asked Claude who smiled somewhat sadly.

"I'm leaving." He replied and Lorenz visibly ruffled.

"Leaving?" The purple-haired man unfolded his arms and gazed at the archer in confusion. "Where will you go?"

"That's a conversation for another time," Claude stated and waved them off. "For now, I wanted to speak to you about what Dimitri and I have discussed concerning his reign."

"And I am to assume that somehow we are involved?" Ferdinand finally spoke and motioned to himself and Lorenz. Claude nodded and allowed Dimitri to take control of the reins and continue the discussion.

"If I am to reign over Leicester and Adrestian as a whole, I will require representatives from each territory to aid- not only myself- but their people to comfortably transition into the new age of peace," Dimitri informed them and motioned to Lorenz. "Claude has advised me that you know the ins and outs of every corner of the Alliance. He assures me that you are the best candidate for the job."

"Oh, I-" Lorenz flushed at the praise and cleared his throat to compose himself before answering Dimitri. "It would be an honour. Thank you for allowing me this opportunity to create a better Fódlan."

Dimitri nodded once before turning to Ferdinand. Linhardt watched Lorenz and Claude gaze at one other before Lorenz was unable to stop the smile from gracing his lips, and the archer swiftly returned it with one of his own.

"And Claude has also informed me that as the prime minister of the Adrestian Empire, you are also the most valid candidate for your people," Dimitri said and Ferdinand rose and bowed respectfully.

"Just as Lorenz put it, it would be an honour to help you, Your Majesty," Ferdinand answered and sat back down again.

"Edelgard is still on the throne," Linhardt stated, dulling the honourable atmosphere and allowing reality to take its place. He didn't flinch under Dimitri's hardened stare and looked at him in challenge.

"We are well aware of that," Claude replied and tried to put himself between their locked gazes. "Shoot us for being optimistic for once." He tried to lighten the mood and pursed his lips when no one quipped even a small smile. "Where's Raphael when you need him?" He muttered beneath his breath before he sat down and let Dimitri continue to glare at Linhardt.

"We'll start preparations for Enbarr tomorrow," Seteth announced and stood, clasping his hands together. "Get some rest, we have much to plan."

Ferdinand and Lorenz rose and left first, followed by Dimitri and Seteth. Claude stayed a little longer his gaze unfocused as he leaned back in his seat. Linhardt rose with Byleth and regarded the archer carefully.

The warlock knew that Claude was not Fódlan-born. He had been an enigma to the Alliance until a year before he joined the academy and was announced the heir to House Riegan. He wasn't bothered by his foreign heritage like many others were, it was intriguing to see how one person could scandalise an entire country just by existing. Claude had taken his position in stride and successfully fulfilled his grandfather's shoes. Linhardt was impressed by the archer and how much he had overcome to achieve his vision for a world that shunned him constantly. To hear that he was going to leave once everything was over, to not see the fruits of his labour come to complete fruition must affect him more than he was letting on.

Linhardt pressed his hand to Byleth's chest, motioning to the archer before clearing his throat loudly. Claude blinked back into focus and turned his gaze to Byleth and Linhardt and replaced his small frown with a smile.

"I didn't realise you were still here." Claude apologised and stood, grooming himself over.

"It will be sad to see you leave," Byleth said and Claude laid his hands behind his head and chuckled.

"I knew you'd miss me," Claude replied. "I'll come back someday. Who knows, it could be sooner than we expect."

"Let us hope it is so." Byleth nodded and grasped Linhardt's hand and pulled him away after they said goodnight to the archer.


	14. Edelgard's Final Chapter

The march to the grand and history-filled capital of the Adrestian Empire was decidedly quiet. Everyone was shaking with anticipation, fear- perhaps even relief. Linhardt was decisively ready for the war to end. Too much blood had been forcefully shed on both sides, yet neither armies wished to back down in the search for supposed peace. It was difficult- to fight with the notion that at any point they would meet their demise- to know they had the choice to forego the coming devastation, yet they had all sworn their fealty to a less than sane king.

Dimitri was certainly improving, that much Linhardt could tell. But the man still had moments where he would tense and mutter to the ghosts of his past. He would unexpectantly splinter the weapon in his hand, or shatter the goblet of mulled wine at dinner. Today, he seemed, somewhat, at peace. If Linhardt had to guess, the foreseeable sight of Edelgard on her knees, begging him for mercy had Dimitri slightly chipper than usual. A disturbing reaction to such an image, but if that suppressed the shadows of hovering whispers and allowed Dimitri to concentrate on the task at hand, Linhardt would not question his stability.

Linhardt turned his gaze to the man marching beside him and hummed lightly. Byleth had been unusually quiet when they woke that morning. The professor had always been a man of few words, but the unnatural silence he offered everyone who spoke with him during the hours of preparations, caused a prickle of concern flow through him. Byleth was under an enormous amount of pressure- with Seteth at his ear with concerns of Rhea and her wellbeing, along with Claude's declaration of dissolving the Leicester Alliance; which had caused vast flares of upset within the territory and a mountain of complaints filling both their desks, Dimitri, though improving every day, still needed to be reassured. Byleth insisted on speaking to him privately most days, to allow the troubled man to speak freely without expecting disastrous consequences for his bluntness.

Linhardt had been all but ignored as they marched from the monastery. Their private moments were isolated to their bedroll in their commanding tent- a brief moment of relief of the strain of the day before Byleth would turn away and fall into an unsteady slumber. Linhardt didn't take offence to the lack of attention or affection. Though he missed the hand on his waist, and the press of Byleth's body against his, he understood. Byleth knew Linhardt was there if he needed to him; if he needed to vent, to threaten to give up and just run away back to his mercenary days. Linhardt was certain that Byleth would never, in fact, turn his back on his students. The vast amount of time and energy he had invested told Linhardt that the professor believed in each and every one of his pupils. He would stand beside them until the end, no matter the outcome. That had been something Linhardt had always found enthralling about him; his unwavering dedication and focus on what he believed in.

It was undoubtedly the trait that had everyone falling into line behind him and ardently hanging off every word and order Byleth gave them. The professor was a calm and collective leader, an asset that the enemy did not have. Edelgard- though a powerful and smart monarch- did not have the devotion of her soldiers like Byleth. Half of her generals had defected and joined the Professor and Claude. Ferdinand, Bernadetta, and Caspar were horrified to find that Edelgard had effortlessly lied to them. The person they had been fighting for had misled them and tricked them into fighting those, that had in reality, pushed for the truth behind her actions.

They came to a stop at the outskirts of Enbarr and Linhardt immediately tensed. The city life echoed out its walls and bounced between Linhardt and the soldiers. It was as if the people were unaware that an invasion force was on its way to disrupt their peaceful existence. Had Edelgard not informed her people of that possibility. Had she been feeding them lies of false safety? Perhaps in the hope, they would not panic? Or perhaps to quell a revolt before it started? Whatever the reason Linhardt pushed himself between the soldiers until he was beside Byleth. He grabbed the professor's arm and shook his head.

"They haven't evacuated the city," Linhardt said and noticed Dimitri about to take a step forward. The warlock swiftly placed his hand against his chest and pushed him back. Dimitri wasn't jostled by the attempt by any means, but he snapped his angered gaze down towards Linhardt, who glared just as easily back.

"Remove your hand." Dimitri snarled a little and Linhardt defiantly refused. The warlock felt every eye looking their way but effectively decided that Dimitri's enraged and overwhelming presence was ever so slightly more important to his life.

"Edelgard hasn't evacuated the city. These are innocent people." Linhardt stood his ground and pressed his palm harder against the cold armour. "We can't attack."

"I've waited too many years for this." Dimitri grabbed Linhardt's wrist and pulled him forward. Dimitri sneered threateningly at the warlock and Linhardt gulped at the fire blazing in his eye. "I'm not stopping here."

"Dimitri!" Byleth called to him with a commanding tone. Both of them turned to look at the professor who was looking at the hand encircling Linhardt's wrist with a livid expression. "Let him go, immediately."

Dimitri released his grasp and Linhardt swiftly brought his arm to his chest. The Faerghus monarch had obviously expected Linhardt to scamper back towards Byleth and hide pathetically behind him. The warlock, however, stayed where he was, continuing to block his path.

"You cannot expect us to turn back." Dimitri snapped and flinched when he felt a gloved hand land on his shoulder. Claude shook his head and came to stand beside Linhardt. He threw his arm around the warlock's shoulders and Linhardt clenched his jaw at the condescending action.

"I think what Linhardt is trying to say is that we have to be cautious," Claude said. Linhardt pushed the archer's arm away and scowled at them.

"What I'm saying is; that Edelgard is putting her people at needless risk in hopes that when we appear to confront her, we won't attack," Linhardt stated and his eyes turned hard. "I honestly doubt she believes that that would stop _you_."

Dimitri's chest rumbled angrily and grounded his lance into the ground. "Are you suggesting she does not care for her people's welfare?"

"That is what I am suggesting," Linhardt replied and despite the dangerous tone in which Dimitri had asked his question the warlock continued. "And if you go in with your blood-thirsty brashness and one-minded arrogance, she will use the innocent people you slaughter against you and turn the world against us."

Dimitri snarled and Claude swiftly inserted himself between them. Byleth pushed forward and grasped Linhardt's hand.

"Let us not turn against one another." Claude calmed the Faerghus man down and smiled lightly at him. "You do see his point though, yes?"

It was clear that Dimitri loathed to admit it, but he nodded in answer. Claude sighed in relief and turned around to look at the city. Linhardt was too busy trying to avert his attention away from Byleth's hard gaze that he watched Claude with immense interest. The archer pressed his hands behind his neck, tapping his foot as his eyes rapidly searched for an answer.

"So, what do we do?" Byleth asked and Linhardt looked back when he realised the man was asking him and not Claude. The warlock blinked at the professor and tilted his head in question.

"I have an idea." Ferdinand slipped into sight from behind Dedue and smiled.

* * *

Ferdinand's plan was actually effective to a certain degree. Claude had wholeheartedly agreed with the paladin's solution and the others swiftly followed suit. Linhardt was pleasantly surprised to find that Dimitri was wrangling his ferociousness as they pushed their way through the city streets. With Dedue, Sylvain, Hilda, Raphael, and Ferdinand on the flanks to ensure the inhabitants of the city were protected from the attacking force, word of the battle passed quickly. Before long they were able to join the fight as people began to lock themselves inside their homes in fear. Linhardt was apprehensive of Edelgard's part in Enbarr's defence. He had yet to see her.

It seemed Dimitri and Claude had noticed the same thing, and their attacks slowly became more aggressive. An explosion sounded to Linhardt's left and he turned to see Hubert firing his magic at Dedue. The man of Duscur fell to his knees, his shield not only doing everything it can to protect Dedue from a deadly hit but keeping the man from falling forward. Linhardt, who was closest to the commotion ran towards them. He timed his shot of wind magic to intercept the dark ball heading towards Dedue and watched with satisfaction as it was forced to change direction and slam into an empire soldier. Linhardt came to stand in front of the downed Dedue and summoned fire into his hand.

Hubert couldn't help but bark out in laughter at the Duscur man's rescuer and Linhardt flared his nostrils in anger.

"You cannot beat me at magic, Linhardt." Hubert raised his hand at the inferior warlock who smirked a little in response. Hubert faltered slightly and rose a brow when Linhardt extinguished the flame in his hand.

"Good thing I'm not alone then, isn't it?" Linhardt stated before he heard a loud rebellious yell from behind him. Caspar appeared, sprinting past the warlock and towards Hubert whose eyes widened in shock. The spell he released was off center and flew passed the brawler. Hubert had to jump to the side as an arrow burst through a bush. Bernadetta appeared with another arrow knotted in her bow, aimed at the dark warlock. Linhardt quickly turned to Dedue and kneeled beside him. As he began to heal him, he tried to ensure he was aware of the fight between Hubert and his friends. When he heard the gallop of horse hooves against the concrete of the street, Linhardt rose his head to find Ferdinand coming to join the fight.

Hubert yelled in frustration, impulsively letting out a dark pulse of magic around him. They were all flown off their feet and thrown a few feet away from the dark warlock. Linhardt groaned and sat up, leaning on his hands as he caught Hubert's eye. They shared a look before Hubert narrowed his eyes dangerously and teleported away. Linhardt winced as he held his side, looking to his right to see Dedue slowly rising to his feet.

"Are you alright?" The man asked him. Linhardt nodded and took his offered hand. "Thank you for coming to my aid. I will never forget it."

Linhardt's response was cut short as Caspar's loud exclamation of the paladin's name caught his attention. They turned to see the brawler with a bloodied elbow and chin running across the square towards Ferdinand's horse.

"I'm okay, I'm okay." Ferdinand's voice came out strained. As Caspar got closer it became clear that the paladin was trapped beneath his mare, struggling painfully to remove his leg.

"Dedue, I could use a hand!" Caspar called to him and Linhardt rushed over with him. With Dedue's help, he and Caspar gently lifted the horse high enough for Ferdinand- with Linhardt's aid- to free himself.

"I think it might be broken." Ferdinand gasped in agony as he tried to move his leg. Linhardt swiftly stopped him and gently laid his hands over the break. The warlock closed his eyes and concentrated on healing the bone. The paladin sighed in relief and thanked Linhardt when he pulled away. Caspar helped him to his feet and Ferdinand quickly moved to his mare and let his body flood with relief as she opened her eyes. "Oh, thank Sothis."

"She's okay?" Bernadetta asked as she gently patted the horse in encouragement. Caspar grinned as Ferdinand nodded in answer.

"I will continue on foot," Ferdinand announced after they managed to coax the mare onto her hooves. The mare huffed in retaliation and nudged the paladin's chest.

Linhardt healed Caspar and Bernadetta's scrapes before they continued forward, meeting up with the others who had forged ahead. It seemed as though they were at an impasse. Linhardt headed to Byleth and allowed him to wrap an arm around his waist in a moment of comfort.

"What's going on?" The warlock asked him.

"Hubert has taken control of the palace entrance," Byleth informed him. "We can't get any closer without a blast of magic decimating our path."

Linhardt nodded and looked over at Dimitri who was swiftly losing his patience. The warlock hummed to himself and prodded at Byleth's hand on his waist for attention.

"How long does it take for Hubert's attack to hit?" Linhardt asked.

"A couple of seconds." The professor replied and the warlock moved away from him.

"Then I suggest you ready yourself."

"Wha-" Byleth started before his voice was drowned by a roar and a yell of protest as Dimitri ran forward. "-Dimitri!"

They all rushed forward after Byleth pounced after the Faerghus monarch, finally circling Hubert after many magical burns and weapon-caused injuries. The dark warlock refused to give up, his guard impeccable until Annette and Lysithea broke it with a joint attack and Byleth was able to leap in and tackle him to the ground.

"Give up, Hubert. You can't win." Byleth struggled in keeping him down. Raphael approached and easily restrained the dark warlock who scowled deeply at them all.

"Why don't you just kill me?" He asked and sneered his nose as Byleth placed his sword at his hip.

"We have some questions," Byleth replied.

* * *

Hubert was taken away after he refused to answer anything Byleth or Claude asked him. Linhardt supposed in the current situation Hubert's silence ensured Edelgard had more time to prepare her defence within the castle walls. Dimitri, along with Felix and Seteth, grew impatient in the lull of battle. They edged their way towards the doors, all but throwing themselves inside when Byleth ordered for Hubert to be taken away to be questioned again later.

The battle to Edelgard was both exhilarating and frightening, to say the least. They managed to get Petra to surrender after a sword clash with Felix and Ignatz. Dorothea had attempted to come to her aid, only to be intercepted by Mercedes and Marianne. Sylvain and Hilda gave the group an air advantage and they made it to the throne room with relative ease. As they stepped inside Linhardt was unprepared for Dimitri to rush forward without order. The monarch was so close to his victory, to his goal, nothing would stop him now.

Edelgard didn't give up without a fight, while most of the army staved off the reinforcements, the clash of the house leaders from five years ago echoed throughout the palace. It was some time before Edelgard fell to her knees in defeat, looking between Claude and Dimitri with a small amount of pride. She turned to Byleth who held his sword at the ready, wary of Edelgard's presence. The battle around them slowly came to a cease-fire, all turning to watch what was about to happen.

Edelgard spoke, her voice tired and pained. Linhardt came to Byleth's side, watching the Empress's every move. She knew she would die here, she seemed ready to face death's door. Edelgard asked that no other than the professor's strike her down where she knelt. It was a last request after a deceitful and waging war; a war she had lost with the natural grace she had been born with.

However, her appeal had only just left her lips when Dimitri snarled in rage. In a split moment, Dimitri leaped forward and thrust his lance into Edelgard's chest. The Faerghus monarch ensured Edelgard watched him until she drew her last breath and whispered something in her ear as he withdrew his lance and let her fall to the ground.

It was quiet for a moment before the cheers from the soldiers rang true and clear, their weapons dropped to the ground as they began to collapse and hug each other. Linhardt had covered his mouth and was staring at Edelgard's lifeless body, joy far from the corners of his mind. Claude had grabbed Dimitri's wrist and pulled him away from her.

"She's dead." Felix's voice came from somewhere nearby. "Whether it's by the professor's blade or Dimitri's, it is death all the same."

Linhardt lifted his gaze to the swordsman and found him staring at the Empress's body in repugnance. The warlock furrowed his brow.

"You don't think she was worthy of a last request?" He asked and the swordsman scoffed and turned to look at Linhardt.

"No." He simply answered before stalking away. The warlock rose a brow in surprise at Felix's blunt answer and automatically held onto Byleth as he brought him into his embrace.

"It's okay, Linhardt," Byleth spoke quietly and gently rubbed Linhardt's back as he looked over at the joyous faces of their militia. "There's nothing we can do now."


	15. Deluded Victory

Linhardt felt like he was in a daze after Edelgard's body was moved. He barely felt the sudden coldness when Byleth was forced away to help bring order to the now chaotic questions of 'what would now be done?' He stood just inches away from where the Empress's body had been, staring up at the throne wistfully. It felt like an eternity since he had last taken his place at Edelgard's feet, speculating what her last words to him would be before she took his life. To think it would end up this way- with Linhardt's heart still beating strongly- it was a relief. He couldn't help but think how things would have played out had they failed. Linhardt grimaced, a country under siege for all time, afraid to speak out against their Empress of absoluteness. That was not the freedom that Linhardt knew Edelgard was fighting for, but the inevitable outcome her choices had borne.

Linhardt was unconscious of the movements around him. He didn't shrug off the hand that fell to his arm, barely protesting as the individual who touched him, guided him slowly away from the throne. Whoever it was, was speaking gently to him, trying to coax him out of his mind-numbing stupor. Linhardt didn't return to the world around him until he was seated and gently being shaken by his shoulders. He fluttered his eyes and let his pupils dilate as he focused on the blue-haired man who was sighing in relief.

"It's okay, he's okay." Caspar turned to whoever was being shadowed by the man's bulky frame. Linhardt slowly peeked around him and found Mercedes with her fingers nervously near her mouth. When their eyes met the priest smiled brightly in relief and Linhardt looked back at his friend.

"Wha-" He put his hand to his throat at the croakiness of his voice and cleared his airways. "What happened?"

"We all left the palace and no one could find you," Caspar replied and scoffed, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Mercedes found you in the throne room staring blankly. You've been in there for hours."

"Hours?" Linhardt furrowed his brow. "It's only been a few minutes."

"We're about to head back to the monastery," Caspar told him as Mercedes moved forwards and gently placed the back of her hand against Linhardt's forehead.

"You were blissfully unaware of everything that's happened recently." She removed her hand and looked at him thoughtfully. "You must have been very deep in your memories."

"What have I missed?" Linhardt stood and groomed himself as Caspar and Mercedes filled him in.

Dimitri, Claude and Byleth, along with the reassuring presence of Ferdinand and Caspar, announced their intentions to the people of Enbarr, and the start of establishing peace. Most were pleased that the war was ending, looking forward to having their husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, returning home. Others were still hostile towards Dimitri's potential leadership, which they had all expected. No one was optimistic of a one-hundred percent contribution, despite the energy they conveyed as they marched to battle.

Ferdinand, Caspar, along with Bernadetta, and Dorothea- who was so pleased to see her friends again, and was easily swayed to give peace a chance- would be staying in Enbarr to help their people return to some form of normalcy before the inevitable politics would take over. Mercedes also noted that Hubert would be coming with them back to the monastery after another round of questioning was left with silent answers from the dark mage.

It seemed Linhardt had missed some important declarations in his trance of lost time. He followed them back to where the army was resting after their long gruelling battle. Some were still extremely wary, eyes flickering in every direction to ensure they were ready for a surprise attack, that Linhardt was sure, would never come.

When he caught sight of Byleth tending to a soldier's wound, he thanked Caspar and Mercedes for their help before heading towards his beloved. Byleth seemed to hear him coming and rose to greet him. Linhardt leaned his chin on the professor's shoulder as he was pulled into the man's embrace. The warlock let out a tired but content sigh as he closed his eyes, allowing Byleth his full trust despite the immediate hesitancy of the structure of the three countries, and let a small smile grace his lips.

"I love you," Linhardt whispered and pulled away slightly so he could place a chaste kiss to Byleth's lips. The professor smiled and slowly moved his lips against Linhardt's for a moment before they pulled away.

"You've been gone for a while, are you alright?" He asked and Linhardt nodded.

"It seems I was too lost in thought before Mercedes came to my rescue." He replied as Byleth lazily ran his fingers down the warlock's spine. "I'm sorry I wasn't here when you declared peace."

"Were you thinking of Edelgard?" Byleth asked him, deciding not to acknowledge the unneeded apology. Linhardt tilted his head down in answer and picked the single piece of gravel from Byleth's collar before brushing the material.

"I'm still coming to terms with her death. I think I'm simply shocked that it's all over." Linhardt confessed and felt his shoulders sag even further. Byleth curled Linhardt's hair behind his ear and cupped his cheek.

"It's over, Linhardt," Byleth assured him. Their lips were centimetres apart before the peace they had all worked so hard for was shattered within moments. Two soldiers from opposite directions came rushing towards them, both calling out different things at once.

"We've found Rhea!"

"Hubert's dead!"

The soldier who spoke of Hubert offered Byleth a piece of paper. It was written in the dark mage's scrawled handwriting that much Linhardt could tell. As he read at a slighter speedier pace than Byleth, he found his heart sinking at the realisation that Edelgard had not been their only enemy; it seemed this one was much more dangerous.

"Perhaps not so over as I previously thought," Byleth muttered and Linhardt slumped against him in frustration.

* * *

While Byleth went to see Seteth and Rhea, Linhardt decided he should help the soldiers with Hubert. He took the note from the professor and was led to where the dark mage was being moved. Lysithea and Ferdinand were nearby and approached as Linhardt appeared.

"How did he die?" Linhardt asked and noticed there were no defensive wounds on Hubert's body. Ferdinand sighed and looked away in anger as Lysithea frowned and explained. Self-inflicted? Linhardt had not imagined Hubert was capable of killing himself. Perhaps the thought of a world without Edelgard was something he simply didn't want to be a part of. The dark mage had been a part of the late Empress's life since before the both of them were even born. His whole life had revolved around Edelgard's every whim. Without her, he simply didn't have anything to live for. A sad fact. It was a shame that they were unable to convince him of a life without her, but it seems they were simply too late.

However, the words on Hubert's letter determined the dark mage's fate well before Hubert even inflicted the poison to himself. He knew they would eventually lose the war, unquestionably keeping it from Edelgard herself. Linhardt was presumptuous enough to speculate that Hubert had written these defeated and informative words following their defeat at Gronder Field.

"He's been planning this for some time," Linhardt spoke and Ferdinand furrowed his brow and nodded in agreement.

"He was always one step ahead." The paladin replied and looked over at the lifeless Hubert. "I had hoped he would at least allow us to say goodbye. He was still our friend after all."

"I don't think he thought he deserved a goodbye." Linhardt stood beside Ferdinand and offered him his company as consoling comfort. "He failed Edelgard, he undoubtedly thought he merited this ignoble ending."

Ferdinand sighed heavily and bowed his head, clasping his hands in prayer. Linhardt and Lysithea joined him and said their final farewells to their extremely analytical and ingenious classmate.

* * *

They took Edelgard and Hubert back with them to the monastery, Linhardt placing his hand on Ferdinand's arm as they watched the cart with their bodies inside be pulled ahead. They shared a sad smile, Linhardt vowing that he would ensure they're treated with respect before they parted ways. Caspar hugged him tightly and made the warlock promise him to stay safe before he let go, and allow Byleth to take him away.

It was surreal to everyone as they returned to Garreg Mach. With the official war over, but the danger that was still ever-present had everyone on their toes. Do they relax? Or prepare themselves for another long battle?

It seemed those that Hubert had called 'Those Who Slither in the Dark' in his letter were the least of Seteth and Byleth's concern with the final return of Rhea. The woman was swiftly taken to her room to rest and heal. Seteth remained by her side for days before Linhardt caught him emerge in protest, being pulled by none other than Claude himself.

"You can't stay in there forever." The archer insisted and rolled his eyes as Seteth shook off his grip. "You need to eat, see the sun."

"What I need is to be by Rhea's side when she wakes up." Seteth snapped and Claude sighed at him. Seteth bowed his head momentarily. "My apologies, I did not mean to lash out at you. I'm just uneasy."

"I know, but Rhea wouldn't want to wake up to find you all skin and bones." Claude began to poke at Seteth's arm and chest. The man flared his nostrils and swatted at the archer's arm. Claude chuckled and placed his hands behind his head and smiled up at Seteth. "You know I'm right."

Linhardt heard Seteth mumble incoherently, but whatever he said had Claude smirking in triumph and motioning for him to head to the dining room.

Rhea woke the next day and both Seteth and Byleth were by her side within moments of the news. Linhardt noticed Claude was tenser since the woman's return, and the warlock couldn't blame him. Rhea had her own visions for the world that certainly clashed with Claude's own. She could easily throw all that the archer had worked for into a self-destructive spiral and reassume her place as leader of, well, everything. The woman was head of the Church of Serios, the entire country was all but dependent on the goddess's guidance- something that Claude sorely wished to change.

For now, it seemed Rhea was too weak to enforce any of her influence on Seteth or Byleth.

* * *

Linhardt was curled up on Byleth's bed, reading in solace as he waited for the professor to return. He had been visiting Rhea after the woman requested his company a few hours before. It wasn't something that concerned the warlock, Byleth had grown to like Rhea, and Linhardt, himself, was indifferent of her. She should be held accountable to some questionable actions, but she had kept peace within each country for a very long time.

Linhardt had seen the myriad of questions in Byleth's eyes as they laid together one night after Rhea's return. The woman knew of his origins, and he would no longer allow it to go unquestioned after everything that had occurred.

As soon as the door opened, Linhardt swiftly closed the book and shifted so Byleth could take a seat. The professor was now the one in a trance as he unconsciously sat and leaned his hands on his knees. His knuckles were white with uneasiness and Linhardt cajoled him back to reality with a few kisses and caresses to his jaw.

"Hey, there you are," Linhardt said softly and lazily rubbed their noses together. Byleth gulped and brought Linhardt's hands to his lap. He gently outlined each of his fingers as he tried to establish what to say. The warlock waited patiently and laid his head on Byleth's shoulder.

"Rhea saved my life when I was born." He started and Linhardt hummed, assuring Byleth he was listening and indicating for him to continue. "She placed the Crest Stone of Flames inside my heart."

Linhardt lifted his head and blinked at Byleth in shock. "What?"

"That's why I can use the Sword of Flames without the stone." Byleth scoffed in disbelief and stared at Linhardt's hands in his lap. "I am the stone. That's why Sothis was in my head, why she decided I was worthy of her power."

Linhardt interlaced their fingers and pulled Byleth to lay down. They gazed at each other for a moment, the warlock's heart clenching at the rare emotion in Byleth's eyes.

"Is that all she told you?" He asked quietly. Linhardt pinched his features in anguish as the professor could only answer with a wobbly lip of breakage, and a dam burst of tears as he buried his head in Linhardt's chest.


End file.
